


Colorblind

by MaximillianDelirium



Category: Keroro Gunsou | Sgt. Frog
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Bullying, Drama, Insomnia, M/M, Romance, fancy prep school au, featuring Putata's awful family, fic that started out as fun and suddenly got real
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-04-04 23:06:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4156338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaximillianDelirium/pseuds/MaximillianDelirium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Putata wants to become a famous artist, avoid the wrath of Yukiki, solve Hanana's romantic problems, and finally figure out a way to sleep through the night. But what he wants most of all is to understand Mekeke.<br/>or<br/>Putata asks Mekeke out on a dare, hijinks ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In which there is detention.

It all started with a dare.

The rules of the game were fuzzy. Putata didn’t remember how they’d started playing, just that they had. The time in between classes was unbearably long and they had to do _something_ to make it pass.

“Go ask Mekeke out.”

He normally wasn’t one to turn down a dare, but today he hesitated, glancing toward the back of the room. In the midst of all the chatter and laughter that filled the teacher-less classroom sat the one and only scholarship kid, playing with string. Not really the type to go on dates, let alone get asked out. Putata winced.

“I’m not sure about that,” he said.

“What’s the matter?” Samama asked. “Are you scared?”

“I just think it wouldn’t be nice, you know.” Putata shrugged.

“If you won’t do the dare,” Samama said, “that means you have to do truth. I want to know what happened on the ski trip.”

Putata stood up so fast that his chair legs scraped the floor. “I’ll be right back,” he said, a sour flavor coating his tongue.

Kabobo looked up from his last minute homework, eyes wide. “Is he actually going to do it?” he whispered.

Samama appeared overly pleased with herself. Putata muttered a curse as he crossed the room, squeezing himself between the desks. She never played fair.

 _What do I do if he actually says yes?_ He considered going back and resigning himself to the truth, but he had promised himself to never let another living soul know about the ski trip. He would carry that fiasco to his grave.

Hanana saw him moving and caught his eye. She was perched by the windows, near the bean plants. She seemed puzzled by his trajectory. Putata hoped she would look away. He wasn’t proud of what he was about to do.

Mekeke seemed to notice his approach. He looked up, his one good eye filled with barely guarded disappointment. It was the look he gave everyone. He got called out so many times for “insolence” that it was a surprise he hadn't been kicked out yet. Putata tried waving at him. Even when dealing with the most dysfunctional personalities, Putata knew he had charm and worked it to his fullest.

“Hi,” he began, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Mekeke's fingers were still entangled in his little string project. _Weird_. Putata thought it looked kind of like a cat's cradle.

“Are you free after class today?”

Mekeke frowned. “No.”

“Shame.” Putata knew he should stop, but he also knew Samama wouldn't be satisfied. “I was thinking we could go out or something.”

“Sorry. Not my type.” Putata might have imagined it, but he thought he saw Mekeke's golden eye dart over to where Samama and Kabobo were intently watching. “Leave me alone.”

Putata held his hands up in surrender. “Alright then.” He returned to his seat, a little stung. _What did he mean, not his type? Does that mean he's not into guys or just not into me?_

Samama laughed. “Did he shoot you down?” she asked. “I thought no one could resist you.”

Putata hazily remembered claiming something of the sort once. Or twice. Was this some roundabout way of taking him down a peg? If it was, Samama was more vindictive than he thought.

“I’m pretty sure he knows I didn’t mean it. He’s not stupid,” Putata said, waving a hand. After all, Mekeke’s test scores were the highest in the class, narrowly beating out Samama. Maybe that was why she had no trouble making fun of the guy.

“I think you’re not as charming as you think you are.”

Putata just smiled. Mekeke was an outlier. The guy had little to no social life and never spoke to anyone if he could help it. Group work with him was apparently a nightmare. Not to mention he was a scholarship student, which gave him permanent Untouchable status. Most people liked to pretend he didn’t exist. His apparent coolness towards Putata was indicative of nothing.

“I think he’s too busy plotting to burn down the school,” Putata joked.

Kabobo shook his head. “You can’t say stuff like that.”

“Well, I just did.”

The door creaked open. Students rushed back to their desks, dragging them into neat rows. Samama swiveled hers to face the front once more as Kabobo raced out. Hanana hopped down from the window into her seat, crossing her legs as though she had always been there. Putata saw Mekeke bundle his string into his pocket out of the corner of his eye.

When Shurara entered rooms, the temperature seemed to drop. Putata ducked his head as their teacher stalked to the front of the classroom. _Don’t notice me. Don’t notice m_ e. Silence descended upon the room as everyone else in the class copied Putata’s pose, doubtlessly repeating the same mantra in their heads.

“It’s good to see you all so quiet,” Shurara said, in a tone that was not quite pleased. “I was concerned you would extend your break into the class period.”

Then he began his usual inspection. It was his habit to stalk up and down the rows of desks, looking for gum, cellphones and MP3 players. Putata sighed with relief when he thought of his headphones, tucked safely into his messenger bag.

Shurara found a phone in someone's pocket and swiftly confiscated it with the promise that they could reclaim it tomorrow. One demerit. Three and you got two hour detention after class. Putata held his breath as Shurara came up the row. _Don't notice me. Don't notice me_.

“What a surprise. A uniform infraction from Putata.”

Putata glanced down at his marker covered sneakers. He had thought they were safely hidden underneath the desk. His shoes were a safe sort of rebellion, a way to bend and stretch the rules without consequence, seeing as most teachers didn’t want to waste time marking up students for minor uniform infractions. Shurara had no such qualms.

“That’s three demerits now, isn’t it?”

Putata’s ears burned. “They’re just sneakers,” he muttered.

“I’d advise you not to talk back to me. Your other teachers might let you get away with that sort of misconduct, but I will not. Not in my classroom.” Shurara rapped his knuckles against Putata’s desk. “Report to Lab B this afternoon for detention.”

Figuring he had nothing left to lose, Putata said, “Fuck.”

“That’s three hours now.”

Putata glared down at the fake whorls on the fake wood of his desk. He wanted to scream. Three hours of detention in a stuffy science lab in the south building. He'd sooner scratch his brains out than spend any amount of time in detention under Shurara.

“And you,” Shurara said, turning away, “must want to join him there, judging by how _humorou_ s you find all of this.”

Putata looked around. Mekeke was currently shrinking back under the laser gaze of Shurara. “No sir,” he said softly. He ducked his head. This didn't seem to be enough. Shurara moved closer, looked him up and down, then made a noise of disapproval.

“You do know that jeans are not permitted under the school's dress code, yes?”

Mekeke closed his eye, as if he could make the whole situation disappear. Putata noticed that the black pants Mekeke was wearing — that they were all wearing — were actually black jeans.

“I...the others are at the dry cleaner's and I didn't have a spare pair,” he explained, stumbling over his words. “And I thought it only applied to _blue_ jeans. I mean, they look the same.”

It was amazing. Putata had never heard Mekeke talk this much. Shurara shook his head. “If you want to stay at this school, then you had better start monitoring your conduct. The only reason that you haven't been dismissed yet is because of your grades.” He sighed. “Seeing as that is your third demerit, you will also report to Lab B for detention this afternoon.”

Putata winced. Mekeke stared up at their teacher, his mouth open, like he was going to complain. But then he closed it and lowered his forehead to his desk. Putata wanted to offer up some words of sympathy, but he was scared that it would add another hour to his detention and possibly a phone call home to his parents — the thing he dreaded the most.

Mekeke met his eyes and glowered at him. Great. Putata defied the day to get any worse.

 

Lab B was in one of the school's drearier buildings: a blocky, 1970s construction with flickering lights and filled with the smell of Bunsen burners and plastic. Most detentions were held in the science labs, because the building was so secure and there were absolutely no windows, except in the hallways. Putata hated it the most out of all the school's buildings. He would have to spend three hours here. It was enough to make him want to scream. He held it in.

Shurara marched in front of him, holding a ring of keys in one hand and a stack of copies in the other. He didn't really look like a teacher. He seemed more like a king, or a dictator. As he walked, he said, “I honestly don't know how you've managed to avoid this for so long. Your conduct record is appalling.”

Putata tugged at his shirt cuffs. Hanana had insisted on buttoning them, as well as straightening his tie and tucking in his shirt. As if he was going to meet the queen for tea. Who was he supposed to be making a good impression on?

He had slipped through so many semesters without ever racking up three demerits. Every time it looked like he was about to get a third, the grading period turned over and he was back to zero. It was uncanny. Even Putata wasn't sure how he got away with it.

“Here,” Shurara said, pointing at Lab B's heavy wooden door. Even the little glass window was covered (Putata later learned that this was because there was a lab safety poster on the other side). Putata wanted to run, hurl himself out one of the windows. What if they called his parents?

He took a deep breath. _Just get it over with. Like pulling off a Band-Aid_. He turned the handle and stepped inside.

Mekeke was already there, sitting at a lab table. He had his notebook open in front of him. He glanced up as Putata entered. The short amount of eye contact he gave the other boy was acidic. Putata looked in some other direction.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” Shurara said. “If you move from this room without my permission, I will know about it and you will receive an extra hour.” With that said, he shut the door.

Putata nearly threw himself at the door, but he resisted the urge to uselessly claw at it. Instead, he let his gaze wander over the safety posters and equipment stacked up around the edges of the room. He wanted to look everywhere but Mekeke, who was back to staring at his notes.

“Um…” Putata began, for once unable to form a sentence. “Where do I…?”

“You can sit anywhere except at my table, we're not allowed to talk and if you have to use the bathroom, you need to wait for Shurara to come by on his rounds.”

Putata let Mekeke’s harsh tone roll off his shoulders. He plopped himself down at the nearest table. The other boy was totally absorbed in his studies. Putata wished he'd brought his sketchbook, but they weren't allowed any form of entertainment, not even books, unless they were school related. He slumped onto the table. _I’d rather write lines than just sit here._

“So…” Putata said, after five minutes of clock watching. “Are you here often?”

“None of your business.”

Putata spared Mekeke another glance. The edges of his jeans were worn and though his shoes were correct, they were scuffed and old. Nothing about him screamed “delinquent” or “troublemaker.” It obviously wasn’t his first time here. Did he also get demerits for petty bullshit? There were several band aids around his fingers. They were all fresh. One of them had a spot of red near the top.

“Did you cut yourself or something?” Putata asked.

“You're going to get us in trouble. I don't want to talk to you.”

“Why not?”

Mekeke sighed. “Because you’re a dick, that’s why.”

Putata felt a flash of indignation. “That's...you don't even _know_ me.”

“That didn’t stop you from trying to ask me out earlier. You weren’t fooling anyone, by the way. I could see your friends giggling from across the room.” His voice choked a little. Either he was angry or hurt or both. “Who does that?”

“Listen, it was a dare—”

“I know. Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“The alternative was worse.” For some reason, Putata had lowered his voice to a whisper. “I didn't have a choice. They made me.”

“Have you ever considered,” Mekeke said, his jaw clenching, “that you could have just said, 'I don't want to play your stupid game' and been done with it?”

Putata didn’t respond. It had honestly never occurred to him to say no, not when Samama was being so demanding.

“That sort of thing is so mean.”

“You don’t have to be so offended by it,” Putata said lamely. “You rejected me anyway.”

“Yeah, but what if you'd asked someone who really did like you? And they got excited and said yes. Then what would you do? Go out with her, then tell her it was just a game?”

Putata looked down at the table. Someone had carved their name into it a long time ago. He traced it with his finger. When he'd imagined having conversations with the weird kid who sat at the back of the room, they hadn't gone like this.

He got up and took a chemistry textbook off a shelf. Talking to Mekeke wasn’t going well. He might as well study, or at least pretend to. If only he could concentrate. None of the words stuck. He would get to the end of a passage and realize he hadn’t learned anything.

Shurara came back eventually. Putata took a bathroom break, just to escape the lab for a brief moment. He considered escaping out the bathroom window, then thought better of it. Shurara would only drag him back and sentence him to more hours.

When he returned to the room, Mekeke was asleep. Shurara either didn't care or didn't notice. Putata, too uncomfortable to pass out, watched him, because it was something to do. Mekeke looked a lot nicer when his eye was closed. _I wonder what happened to the other one._

Mekeke was not very well put together: the second hand uniform, the bandages on his fingers, the unruly green hair that couldn’t decide if it was long or short, the poorly sewn eye patch. No wonder everyone avoided him. Against a backdrop of rich kids with styled haircuts, smooth skin, and whitened teeth, Mekeke stood out as an interloper.

Still, his hair was a nice shade of green, almost teal, and he was clearly strong. The uniform shirt was pulled taught over his upper arms. Putata put his chin in his hand and looked closer. He’d make a good model for a sketch.

His appraisal of Mekeke didn’t last long. The other boy woke up halfway through the second hour. “What time is it?” he asked blearily, running his fingers through his hair to smooth it out.

“You've still got another half hour.”

Mekeke groaned. “Fuck. This doesn't get any easier.”

Putata’s mind was still stuck on drawing. In fact, a body like Mekeke’s deserved more than a sketch. He could probably do a whole study on those arms alone. It was strange, because last he’d checked, Mekeke didn’t play any sports.

“What are you staring at me for?”

“Nothing,” Putata said quickly, diverting his attention to a random carving on the lab table. He allowed himself to acknowledge that Mekeke would be very handsome without the weird haircut and the missing eye and moved on. There was no point to thoughts like those. Mekeke had made it clear that flirtation was off the table.

Putata didn't know why, but he was uncomfortable with Mekeke's dislike. He was used to people hating him. You can't please everyone. But this scruffy boy in detention was a different matter. Maybe...maybe he just wanted him to know that there was more to him than easy smiles and talking back to teachers. That was why. _He hates me for all the wrong reasons._

Shurara came back. “Mekeke. Time's up.”

“Thank God,” Mekeke said, hopping off the bar stool. He shot a quick glance at Putata on his way out, and then was gone, string and all.

 

“You look terrible! What happened?”

“Three hours in a science lab is what happened,” Putata said. “I was bored out of my mind. You can't imagine the torture, Hanana. And the worst part is that Mekeke was there too. That guy _hates_ me.”

Hanana winced. “Hate is a strong word. Maybe he was just mad because you tried to ask him out yesterday.”

Putata stuck out his tongue. “Nah, it's more than that. I’m pretty sure he can’t stand me.”

Hanana smoothed her ponytail. “I don’t think that’s the case. He doesn't know you. I'm sure that if you talked for a while, he'd see that you're a lot nicer than you seem.”

“It's all Samama's fault,” Putata said. “I should have never agreed to her game.”

“Then you should apologize. The worst he could do is turn you down.”

“That’s easier said than done.”

Hanana patted his arm. “Just be sincere. And, more importantly, be yourself.”

Putata thought he _was_ being himself. That was what had gotten him into this mess.

Hanana seemed jittery today. It could have been because of an upcoming test — which Putata hadn’t studied for —  but the way her eyes darted around the crowd made it seem like she was seeking someone out. Putata glanced around. No one leaped out in particular.

“Who are you looking for?” he asked.

“No one,” Hanana said quickly. Too quickly. She hiked her messenger bag up on her shoulder. “I have to go. I promised Beriri I’d help review her notes. I’ll see you later.”

 _Interesting_. Putata smiled to himself as he put on his headphones. He was pretty sure that Hanana had been trying to find someone. The only question was who. He hoped it wasn’t Giruru. Putata had thought that ship had sunk long ago.

“So how was detention?”

Even though Putata heard Samama’s voice loud and clear over his music, he pulled one headphone off and said, “Huh? You’re gonna have to repeat that.”

“Don’t play dumb. I know you heard me.”

“Does ‘it sucked’ work for you?”

Samama pursed her lips. “And what about Mekeke?”

“He was part of the reason why it sucked,” Putata replied. “I'm never doing one of your stupid dares again. Not even if you paid me.”

Samama sighed. “You didn't _have_ to do it.”

“You forced me. I'm never talking about the ski trip.”

“Have it your way then,” she said, throwing her hands in the air. “I still don't get why you're so touchy about that.”

Putata gave her one of his rare glares. “Because I am. That should be enough.” He cranked up the volume on his phone and readjusted his headphones. “Catch you later. I'm gonna go hang out somewhere a little less crowded.”

He dropped his skateboard to the concrete and pushed off before Samama could stop him. Technically, they weren't allowed to travel in any other way than on foot on campus, but that had never stopped Putata before. The cool air whipped him in the face. It was going to be a nice day.

The crowd of students gradually thinned the farther he got from the buildings. There were about ten minutes before classes started and a few stragglers were still making their way up the main walk. Putata figured he had enough time to make it back before the warning bell. He finally came to a stop near an old gazebo (which had absolutely no purpose except to look pretty) and kicked his board into his hand. There were three girls hugging the wall of the science building, a couple of boys sneaking cigarettes before class and...

Mekeke was sitting inside the gazebo, hunched over a textbook and rubbing his eye. Putata crept forward. It was like approaching a rare animal. His legs were crossed at the ankle. The bench next to him was stacked with a binder and composition book. His backpack was slumped at his feet. Putata tried to make his footsteps whisper light without looking like an idiot. _Should I say sorry? Should I even talk to him now?_

Mekeke's head snapped up. His golden eye narrowed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Hanging out. Listen, about yesterday—”

“I don't want to hear it.” Mekeke gathered his books and shoved them in his backpack. His voice was more tired than harsh today. The Band-Aids were still there. “I've got stuff to do.”

“I wanted to apologize,” Putata said in a rush. “For acting kind of...”

“Dickish?” Mekeke suggested.

“Is that even a word?”

Mekeke smiled a little. Putata felt his mouth curving into one of his own. “It can be for now. I was kind of... on edge yesterday. So I'm sorry I snapped at you. But you still deserved it.”

“Yeah.” Putata rubbed the back of his neck. “Just out of curiosity, why else do you hate me?”

Mekeke shouldered his backpack. “I never said I hated you.”

Putata blinked. “But you...”

Mekeke was already gone, darting across the courtyard at a fast walk. Putata watched him go, utterly confused. _I just don't get that guy_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! It's been a while since I've updated...anything. Heh. Might as well be honest and admit that I am rather busy (university is like that) and have to prioritize writing for school, assignments etc. The good news is that this fic is pretty long plus I've already written quite a bit of it.  
> In which there is bullying.

“You keep watching him,” Samama said. “Do you have a crush now?”

“No. He's... I don't know. I kind of want to get to know him better.”

“Why?”

Putata shrugged. “He's been in our class for a while. I spent detention with him. Might as well.” He wasn't sure how well that plan would work out. Mekeke seemed sort of hostile towards him and disinterested in making friends. It didn't hurt to try.

During the break, he grabbed the empty desk in front of Mekeke's and spun it around to face him. Mekeke jumped. “What are you—?” he began.

“Just wanted to say hi. What's up?”

Mekeke shook his head. “Listen, I didn't say I suddenly wanted to make friends with you.”

“Are you sure? You're always sitting here alone. I thought you might want to talk to someone.”

“Just because we had detention together doesn't automatically mean-”

“That makes us something, doesn’t it?” Putata grinned. “I don’t want you to keep thinking I’m a dick. Figured the best way to fix that was to get to know each other.”

Mekeke hunched a little, shrinking in his chair. His eyes drifted to the side of the room where Samama and Kabobo sat, then over to the groups of laughing students.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” he said softly.

“Why not? We’re in the same class.”

Mekeke looked pale and agitated. His mouth twisted into a grimace. “Guys like you don’t talk to guys like me. What do you want? To exhibit the scholarship kid?”

“No.” Putata frowned. “What do you mean guys like you? You're a guy. A quiet guy, yeah...”

“I mean...” Mekeke waved his hands around. Putata thought it was kind of cute. “We're from different sides of the fence. We have nothing in common. And I can't stand your type...”

“What is my type exactly?” Putata asked, cutting him off. “You said that when I asked you out, too.”

“I-It doesn’t matter,” Mekeke stammered. “Why are you focusing on that?”

Putata leaned forward, resting his chin in his hands. “I’m curious. What’s my type?” A beat. “What’s _your_ type?”

“I… agh. Go talk to your normal friends.” He was turning pink. “People are staring.”

There were, indeed, several pairs of eyes fixed on them. Putata hadn’t noticed until now. Someone said something unintelligible and their group started giggling.

Putata lowered his voice. “You know, there’s no rule that says we can’t be friends. I don’t care what they think.”

Mekeke gestured for Putata to come closer. Putata leaned across their desks, turning his head so that his ear was in line with Mekeke’s lips. His breath was hot.

“I can’t afford to break status quo, rich boy. So leave me alone.”

“Alright,” Putata said, trying to pin down the shivers on his spine. He sat back. “I’m not giving up. I’m going to figure you out.”

“Don’t bet money on that.”

 

“Why am I not surprised?” Mekeke said when he saw Putata hanging around outside the classroom. Waiting for him.

 Putata gave him a cheery grin. “The only way I'm going to get to know you better is if we hang out more often.”

“What are you going to do, walk me home?”

“Sure thing.” Putata shouldered his backpack. “Let's go.”

“That wasn't a — never mind. Let's just get out of here.” Mekeke walked quickly down the hall. Putata followed, amazed at Mekeke's pace. He didn't have a hard time keeping up though. There weren't many that could outrun him.

Behind them, a voice jeered, “Look who's got a boyfriend!”

Mekeke grimaced and kept his head down. Putata glanced over his shoulder. A couple of guys from one of the various sports team were hooting loudly at their weak joke. Putata laughed and shook his head. “What a bunch of dicks,” he said.

“Keep walking,” Mekeke muttered.

“Don't take what they say personally. They've got brains the size of walnuts.”

Mekeke didn't acknowledge him. As they walked off campus, Putata found that Mekeke's silence was not awkward, but seemed to come naturally. Mekeke had nothing worth saying and wasn't going to waste breath on nonsense. But even though Putata understood it, he needed _something._

“So where do you live?”

“You'll see it.” He refused to say more. Putata was left in frustrated silence. The guy didn't say much in or out of class. _How am I supposed to get to know him when he won't talk?_ He shoved his hands in his pockets and kept pace with Mekeke.

They began to move away from the affluent side of the city surrounding the school and eventually reached a intercity train station. Putata recognized it from field trips. He had to scramble for his pass. He didn't normally use the train. Mekeke remained impassive.

Putata jogged his leg while he sat, drumming an uneven beat on his knee. Buildings flashed by outside the windows. Mekeke had his head bent over a cheap looking black phone, thumbing through what appeared to be text messages. Putata was about to ask him what he was reading when he realized that Mekeke wouldn't tell him, and it would be seen as rude.

Patience wasn't one of his strong points, but even Putata could tell that the ride was particularly long. He was practically bouncing off the walls when they finally got off at grungy stop. They were the only teenagers on the platform, easily identifiable in their dark blue and black uniforms. Putata was glad he never put much thought into the neatness of his appearance. He'd be sticking out way more if that wasn't the case.

Mekeke resumed his swift, businesslike pace as they continued, still silent. He'd tucked his phone away again. A couple of older people said hello to Mekeke as he passed. He waved at them and Putata thought he saw a smile at one point. This made him smile in turn, but when Mekeke looked his way, it vanished.

Eventually, they came across a small apartment building. Mekeke pushed open an iron gate and pressed the “up” button next to the elevator. He still hadn't said anything to Putata. It was utterly frustrating. The elevator was cramped, even with just the two of them. When they reached the third floor, Mekeke finally made eye contact.

“You remember which way the station is?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Because you're not seeing my apartment.”

“Oh, come on!”

“You've walked me far enough,” Mekeke said. “I can handle it from here. Have a nice afternoon.” The doors opened with a brief chime and Mekeke hopped out.

Before they could close again, Putata said, “I _will_ see it one day! And you're going to _invite me in._ ”

Mekeke just rolled his eye as the elevator's doors shut.

 

**I stg he hates me**

 

**no, no, that's not true :(**

 

Putata rubbed his eyes. He wasn't supposed to be awake, but he'd forgotten to take his sleeping pills (accidentally on purpose). He was just glad that Hanana had also been possessed by whatever demon kept him up at night. She kept sending him pictures of her science project. It was frankly impressive, made out of modeling clay and pipe cleaners. As an artist, Putata could offer valuable input.

               

**walked him home tho. Progress!!**

**maybe you're going at this wrong. Try and understand how he feels.**

 

Putata was about to text back that Mekeke was a complete enigma, but stopped himself. Hanana had a point. He sighed.

 

**How do I know what he's feeling??**

**ask him?**

 

Putata looked at the mess of sketches on his desk. They were all half-formed, killed midway through when the inspiration dried up. His shaking hands could barely hold a pencil anymore. He didn't even know what music he was listening to. With a groan of borderline exhaustion, he swept the papers off the desk. Only some of them hit the trash can. He said good bye to Hanana, then fell onto his bed, staring at the ceiling.

 _But I have promises to keep,_ he thought. _And miles to go before I sleep._

 

Putata squeezed through the classroom door just seconds before the final bell. He had slept straight through his alarm and his appearance was even sloppier than usual. Luckily, his first block teacher was a nervous wreck who hated filling out demerit forms. Apparently, they gave him a headache.

“Late night?” Samama asked.

“Inspiration doesn't sleep.”

“Well, you missed the drama,” Samama continued. “Your new BFF has a real bad shiner.”

Putata whirled around. Mekeke had his head down. Putata clenched and unclenched his fists. “Does anyone know how it happened?” he asked.

Samama shrugged. “No one does. He never talks about that stuff.”

“Then it's my solemn duty to figure it out,” Putata said.

He waited until a class break to confront Mekeke and when he did, his first words were, “Hey, wanna go talk in the hallway?”

“This is going to be a regular thing, isn't it?” Mekeke said. “I never should have let you walk me home...”

“Come on. It's important.” He really did have a black eye. It was turning yellow at the edges. Whenever it had happened, it had happened long enough ago that it was no longer swelling. Mekeke sighed and stood up.

Once they were out of the classroom, Mekeke crossed his arms and said, “What is it?” in such a petulant tone that Putata nearly backed off. But, then again, when was he ever someone to back out of something?

Putata gestured at his eye. “What happened here?”

“None of your business.”

“Did it happen at home? Was that why you didn't want me in your apartment?”

Mekeke sucked in a breath. Putata thought he'd got it, but the other boy shook his head. “No. I live alone. I don't want to talk about it. Not with you, not anyone.” He tenderly touched the bruise. “It's getting better already. So just drop it.” He spun away and dashed into the classroom.

Putata followed him. “Alright. We won't talk about it. What do you want to talk about, then?”

“Nothing. I don't have the energy.” Mekeke slumped back into his seat. His golden eye darted around the classroom. “But everyone else has a lot to talk about now.”

Putata looked. Once again, the other students were looking at him and whispering. Putata shrugged it off. He could handle a little gossip. “You shouldn't worry about them.”

Mekeke opened a spiral bound notebook to a half filled page. His handwriting was cramped and neat. Putata struggled for a moment to read upside down, then gave up. “What are you working on?”

“The history paper.”

“That's not due for, like, two weeks.”

Mekeke shrugged. “I have to keep my GPA up.” He sighed heavily. “Procrastination's bit me in the ass enough times.” He looked up. Putata couldn't keep himself from wincing. The black eye looked like it really hurt. “Go talk to your real friends.”

Wounded, Putata retreated. So they weren’t exactly friends yet, but it wasn’t as if Mekeke was any less real than Kabobo, Samama, and Hanana. It made it sound like Putata’s feelings weren’t genuine. He sank into his desk, Mekeke’s shiner dancing around his brain.

“You're really trying, aren't you?” Samama said. “You don't have to make nice with everyone.”

“He’s interesting and I want to be friends with him.”

“You just like a challenge.”

Putata looked away. Maybe, on some level, that was true. And that was pretty fucked. Putata glanced at Mekeke again. He was still bent over his notebook, writing calmly.

 _I'm not that altruistic,_ he thought. _I guess that makes me a bad person._

On their lunch break, Mekeke stood up and made to leave the room. Putata nearly knocked over a desk as he stood up. Samama gave him a warning look. He ignored it.

“Hey,” he said, catching up with Mekeke in the hallway. “Can I join you?”

“Seeing as I can't shake you, sure.”

“You know, I got to thinking,” Putata said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know you probably spend a lot of time doing homework and stuff, since you're here on a scholarship, but what else do you do? For fun, I mean.”

Mekeke looked at him, eyebrows raised, as if no one had ever asked him this question before. He quickly turned away. “You'd laugh.”

“Try me.”

Mekeke blew air out between his teeth. “Swear you won't laugh?”

“Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye, I will not laugh at your hobbies.”

“Puppetry.”

Putata stopped. “Like, you put on puppet shows or you make them? Or do you do that throwing your voice thingy?”

“Ventriloquism. And yeah. I do all of those things.”

Putata's face split into a grin. “That is _cool._ You're like a triple threat.”

Mekeke turned to face him again. “I thought you said you wouldn't laugh.”

“I'm not making fun of you,” Putata assured. “It's cool.”

Mekeke fixed him with a long, one eyed stare. Putata could play this game. His expression didn't change. The furrow in Mekeke's brow softened. “Well, you're the first person to say that and mean it.”

Putata's smile faltered. “Seriously?”

Mekeke started walking again. Putata caught up. “Look,” he said. “I know that you probably think I'm a dick.” Mekeke leveled him with a deadpan look. “Okay, you do think that. But I'd _never_ make fun of anyone for something they like to do.” His voice trembled a little as he spoke. This was hitting too close to home.

Mekeke seemed to hear it. The hostile look in his eyes faded. He took a deep breath. “Yeah. I believe that.” He paused. “You know, I saw your art at the school festival.”

“Really?”

“I thought it was good.”

“It was all kind of last minute.”

“It was good.”

They had reached the end of the hallway, where the door for the stairs was. Mekeke shouldered it open and started climbing. Their footsteps echoed as they walked. Putata found himself wrapped up in Mekeke's comfortable silence.

Eventually, though, he had to speak. It was an impulse. “So, why wouldn't you let me walk you to your door?”

“Because I don't want you to see it,” Mekeke replied.

“Is it a mess?”

“Well yeah.” Was that a smile? That was _definitely_ a smile. “What are you staring at?”

“Nothin'.”

“It's just... small,” Mekeke said. “I mean, you probably live in a penthouse somewhere, or a townhouse even. Somewhere nice. Somewhere with more than 300 square feet of space.”

“Actually I don't,” Putata said. “Or...I think mine has about 400. Square feet. I don't remember. So yeah. I have 100 more square feet than you do. Lucky I don't have to share it with anyone.”

Mekeke put his head to one side. “I thought you lived with your family.”

“Nope! They couldn't wait to see the back of me. Paid for the cheapest apartment closest to the school that was still in a 'nice' neighborhood and left me to my own devices!”

Mekeke seemed pensive. They reached the top of the stairs. Putata was surprised to see a door there. “What's this?”

“Door to the roof.”

“We can access the roof?”

“Technically, we're not supposed to,” Mekeke explained. “But it's not like they lock it or anything.”  As if to prove it, he pushed the door open. “Just make sure you use the block in the door, or we'll be trapped.”

Putata noticed a small, wooden wedge near the bottom of the door. He quickly pushed it into place with his foot.

There wasn’t much to it, but Putata could see the appeal. It was quiet. Everyone else was either eating in the classroom or the cafeteria. Putata went to the railing and leaned over. It wasn’t too high up, but a fall would definitely break something. He could see straight into one of the smaller courtyards, the one with the memorial ash tree.

“So, you live by yourself.”

Putata jumped. He hadn't even heard Mekeke's approach. The guy had a light step. He leaned against the rail, shoulders sagging. In the daylight, his black eye looked less ghastly.

“Yeah. I gave my parents lots of 'unnecessary' stress.”

To his relief, Mekeke didn’t push further. Instead, he went to sit in the largest patch of sunlight. Putata joined him, casting one last look over his shoulder at the campus beneath them.

“I never would have guessed you came up here during lunch,” Putata said, sitting cross legged.

“Where did you think I went?”

Putata shrugged. The truth was that he might have joked once or twice about checking on buried bodies, but he didn't want to say that now. Not when he was making so much progress. “Thanks for bringing me up here. And letting me bother you.”

“I've almost gotten used to it.” Putata beamed. “ _Almost._ ”

 

They returned from lunch break a little earlier than necessary. A few people were napping at their desks. Everyone was still talking, waiting for next block’s teacher. Hanana looked up as Mekeke and Putata entered. Hardly anyone else noticed.

Mekeke went back to his desk and Putata followed close behind, if only because there was nothing better to do. He shot a glance at Samama, who was too absorbed in her conversation with Kabobo to tease him. Putata chose an empty desk in front of Mekeke’s, perching himself on the top with his feet in the chair.

“Wait…” Mekeke said softly, halting beside the desk. He bent down, then stood back up, suddenly tense. “Where’s my stuff?”

“Your bag?” Putata’s leg jogged against the seat. This didn’t sound good. “You didn’t take it out of the room, right?”

“No, I left it here.” Mekeke squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m so stupid. My wallet was in there _and_ my phone. Shit.”

“Bags don’t just disappear,” Putata said darkly, sliding off the desk. “Did someone take it?”

Mekeke looked up. He was chewing his bottom lip. When he didn’t answer, Putata turned on his heel and jogged out of the classroom. He heard Mekeke call his name and the soft thump of rubber soles on tile behind him.

 _Are you kidding?_ Putata found himself looking at the black eye in a new light. _A scholarship kid with the best grades in the class. An easy target. Those bastards…_

“Putata! Wait!”

He stopped. Mekeke had grabbed the back of his sweater, the fabric pinched between his fingers. He immediately let go.

“Who took it?” Putata demanded.

“I don’t know.”

It was clearly a lie, but Putata wasn’t going to get an answer from the guy, so he let it be. Instead, he asked, “Do you know where it might be?”

Mekeke shook his head. “There's one place...but if it's there, I'm screwed either way.”

“Where?”

               

Like the roof, students were technically not allowed into the pool without permission from a teacher, but that didn't stop anyone.

It was so quiet that Putata felt apologetic every time he made a noise, which was all the time. The tile flooring and brick walls amplified even the softest of footsteps. Mekeke somehow managed to get through quietly.

When they came to the pool itself, Mekeke swore. There was a bag floating in the middle. Putata dropped his own backpack on a bench. He sighed.

“Geez, that's... you said your phone was in there?”

Mekeke nodded. “And my wallet.”

“Then let's get it out,” Putata said, turning to the wall. They kept a net and a brush on a rack for cleaning purposes; they could just as well be used for bag retrieval. He passed Mekeke a net. “I think we can save your wallet. I don't know about your phone.”

“It was a POS, anyway,” Mekeke said glumly, accepting the net. He extended it to its full length and turned away. Putata stood back, struggling with the brush while Mekeke attempted to fish his bag in. “Oh. Some stuff fell out.”

Putata, finally succeeding in lengthening the brush, peered into the water. A couple of objects were drifting around at the bottom. He tried to brush them into the shallows. “Question: does this happen a lot?”

“Answer: from time to time.”

Putata frowned. Mekeke's stuff remained at the bottom of the pool. He had no way to get them out. He was pretty sure one of them was Mekeke's phone. It reminded him of those weighted toys he used to dive for when he was a kid.

Struck with a sudden brilliant (or stupid) idea, he discarded his sweater, then rolled up his pant legs. It wouldn't do any good, but it felt like the right thing. Then he jumped. He heard Mekeke shout his name, but it was quickly covered up by the water. It was cold.

He resurfaced, soggy pens and phone in hand. He shook his head, sending water droplets flying. Mekeke stood on the edge, eyebrows raised and the pool net still gripped in his hands. His bag sat weeping chlorinated water at his feet.

And then he laughed. It filled the entire room, bouncing off the corners of the walls. Putata pulled himself out of the pool and flopped down on the tile, laughing as well, until his lungs hurt. Unable to get up, he had to watch Mekeke's shoes fill his vision as he came over and offered him a hand.

“Why did you do that?” He was still smiling, holding in laughter. “Your hair is going to turn green.”

Putata tried to wring out his shirt. “It was a spur of the moment thing.”

“Question: do you do that a lot?”

“Answer: from time to time.”

 

Putata was desperate to strip out of his wet clothes, but he had nothing to change into. He would have worn his gym uniform otherwise. So he settled for ducking in and out of a shower to wash his hair. Mekeke stood back, laying out his books on bench to dry. He kept sighing heavily every so often.

“How's it going with your stuff?” Putata asked, running through his fingers through his hair. It was wetter than ever, but at least it was clean. “Everything okay?”

“My notebook is completely trashed,” Mekeke said. The ink was smeared, illegible even to a practiced eye. Putata winced. Even if they dried it, the paper would never be the same. “As for my phone...” He held it up and tried pressing a few of the buttons. “Broken. I spent months saving up for it. Months.”

Putata felt a strange combination of emotions in his stomach: pity for Mekeke, who'd been a victim, and rage at whoever had done this. He was choked. “You know who did this.”

Mekeke set the broken phone down. “No.”

Putata wasn't about to drop it. “Yes, you do. Who is it?”

Mekeke bit his lip. He bit it hard, as if he were really trying to hurt himself. “It's a group,” he whispered. “Some from the baseball team. I think one of them's on student council.” His eye closed. Putata wanted to hunt down whoever had caused it to swell like that and ruin them.

Anger was such a foreign emotion to him that he felt physically sick. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down, then said, “You can report them.”

Mekeke shook his head.

“Why not?”

“They wouldn't believe me. Who takes the word of some poor delinquent over a bunch of 'upstanding young men'?” He said it as if he had heard those exact words before, probably from the mouth of an adult. “Besides, they can just buy off their demerits.”

Putata's heart was sinking fast. “Mekeke...”

“Listen, I don't want to talk about this anymore.” He started to gather his things from the bench. “Thanks for your help. I’m going home. We’re already late for next block.”

Before he could just walk out, Putata grabbed his arm. “You're not a delinquent,” he said. He stared straight into Mekeke's eye as he said this. “They gave you that shiner, didn't they?”

Mekeke blanched. He shook his arm free. “You...you don't know me.” He looked away.

Putata couldn't stop him this time. He blinked and Mekeke was gone.

 

“What happened to you? You're soaking wet!”

“I'm drying out,” Putata said with a shrug. Like Mekeke, he ended up skipping the rest of the day. There was no way he’d make a spectacle of himself in a soaked uniform, not after that detention. Teachers could only ignore so much. He plucked at his damp shirt. It would take at least another hour for the evaporation process to work fully. He was looking forward to throwing his stuff in the dryer.

Hanana shook her head. “How did this happen?”

Putata rubbed the back of his neck. He hated lying to Hanana. It was better to just be upfront. “Someone threw Mekeke's stuff in the pool, so I helped him out.”

Hanana put a hand over her mouth. “Why would anyone do something like that? Has he told a teacher about this?”

“As far as I can tell, no.” Putata winced, remembering the way Mekeke had brushed him off earlier. “And I don't think we should either. Not just yet. I mean, we don't even know who it is.”

Hanana frowned. “Keeping quiet is the last thing we should be doing.”

Putata agreed, but he knew it would only make things worse. If they didn't believe Mekeke, they certainly wouldn't believe _him._ “Let's wait a little. If it gets really bad, then we'll say something. For now, let's play it safe.”

“I don't want to sound rude, but I never expected those words to come out of your mouth,” Hanana said. “But you know Mekeke better than I do. If you think we should keep quiet, then alright.” She slipped her schoolbag over her shoulder. “I have to get going.”

Putata tucked his skateboard under his arm. “Let me walk you,” he offered. “Since you waited for me and all.”

Hanana smiled. “Thanks, but it's fine. I don't want to inconvenience you.”

“Well, I'll walk you off school grounds,” Putata said with a grin.

“How chivalrous.”

To get his mind off the heaviness of Mekeke and bullies, Putata lowered his voice and said, “So... you know about all my troubles just trying to make friends. What about you? Any new friends? _Crushes_?”

She blushed. “No.”

 _So transparent, Hana._ Putata allowed it to slide. There were better times and ways to grill her. He left her to go her own way once they were through the gate. He skated the rest of the way home, his thoughts full of Mekeke and Hanana and whoever decided to be a “tough guy” and prey on the scholarship kid.

 _How long has this been going on? Ever since he came here?_ That thought turned Putata's stomach. If only Mekeke had more friends... but Putata was his only one, as far as he knew. That and he refused to talk about his problems.

He hadn't expected a friendship with Mekeke to be easy. In fact, he was surprised they'd gotten this far this quickly. However, there were still miles and miles to go of building trust. To someone like Putata, who was used to smooth interactions between himself and his classmates, the whole experience of talking to Mekeke was earth shattering. Suddenly, he had no idea what to say or do.

Putata just hoped he hadn't made any huge mistakes this afternoon.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um...surprise. i mean to catch the ao3 side of this fic up to the ff.net posting so i'll be doing that now while i'm working on some other fics

Mekeke's black eye was looking a lot better the next day. Putata, determined to tread delicately, gave him space. He wasn't going to push his luck this early in the game.

Samama took this as her cue to shove a piece of paper in his face. Putata jumped back. He'd been staring at his desk one moment. The next, he was staring at bad clip-art of a snowman. The flowy script at the top read, "Winter Formal."

"They're short on hands," Samama said. "If you want to help with set up. There are a lot of decorations to be prepared."

"I didn't know this school even had a winter formal..."

"You've been going here four years now. How did you not know?" Samama rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I would have thought you'd be asking your new boyfriend to go with you."

"He's not my boyfriend," Putata said, scanning the details of the flier.

"Oh that's right. He shot you down."

Putata tried to ignore her comments. "So what does 'set up' mean?"

"You just have to help gather materials and stuff, then you decorate the ballroom the day of," Samama explained. "I got roped in because Kabobo's doing it. They're probably going to want to cut out some snowflakes, get some new tablecloths, etcetera." She waved a hand. "It should be easy for you. It sounds right up your alley."

Putata folded up the flier and tucked it into his pocket. "I'll think about it."

"Did I also mention that if you stick with it and decorate, they give you free tickets?" She raised her eyebrows in a way that might have been suggestive, if her facial expression had changed. "It would give you something do on a Saturday night."

Putata had plenty to do Saturday nights, and he didn't even have to leave his apartment. But he would be lying if he said he wasn't looking for a chance to get out there.

He found his eyes sliding toward Mekeke, who was hunched over his dried out notebook. "How many hands do they need exactly?" he asked.

"About five pairs," Samama said. She followed his gaze. "Feel free to bring a friend."

Hanana might be up for it. Putata made a mental note to ask her later. As for Mekeke... Putata folded up the flier and tucked it into his pocket. There was time for asking later.

 

Surprisingly, Mekeke approached Putata's desk this time. Putata had been too absorbed in his doodling to notice until Mekeke was standing right next to him.

"Um… did you want to go to the roof again?" he asked, rubbing his arm.

"Sure," Putata said, jumping up. Samama was looking at them over her shoulder. She didn't bother disguising her smirk. Putata ignored her. "Let's go."

He thought he'd gotten on Mekeke's bad side yesterday. Apparently, they'd made some progress. How much, Putata didn't know, but it was good to see that his presence was welcome.

As they climbed the stairs, Mekeke said, "You didn't have to help me yesterday. That was nice of you."

"Anyone would have done the same."

"I don't know about that." Mekeke put the wedge under the door. "You've been really nice to me and I was kind of mean. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Putata said. "My friends say I can come on kind of strong." He laughed and scratched the back of his head. "I didn't really give you any reason to trust me."

It was colder today. Soon, they would have to start wearing their blazers. Putata would rather choke himself with his tie than conform to uniform requirements, but he wasn't prepared to risk the cold. Mekeke sat down.

"I figured that if you were just trying to make fun of me, you wouldn't have jumped into a pool for my stuff," he said, reaching into a brown paper bag. "So here."

Putata nearly missed the pudding cup Mekeke threw at him. He managed to grab the spoon in time. "Wow. Thanks, man. Friends?"

Mekeke shrugged one shoulder. "We'll see."

Putata grinned, dumping himself next to Mekeke. "I can work with that," he said, peeling back the wrapper from the pudding. "When do I get to see your apartment?"

"You've got a ways to go before you see my apartment."

Putata was about to say something else when he heard a shout from below them. He jumped up and ran to the railing. Mekeke followed close behind.

"Give that back!"

A group of boys had cornered a girl. Her pink hair stood out like a homing beacon. One of them was holding an elaborate mess of clay and pipe cleaners illustrating different biomes. Putata sucked in a breath.

"That's Hanana," he said, pushing away from the railing. He shot past Mekeke to the stairs, taking them two at a time. Mekeke was close behind, their hurried footsteps echoing in the stairwell.

It took longer than he could stand to find a door that led outside. He practically kicked it open. By the time they reached the scene, Hanana had been backed against a wall. Though she seemed small in comparison, the look on her face was murderous.

"I swear, I'll report you," she said.

"Yeah, to who?"

"Hey!" Putata shouted. "Get away from her!"

The boys turned. It took everything in Putata's power not to flinch. He recognized a few from the other day, when he walked Mekeke home. They could probably snap him like a twig.

Mekeke tugged on Putata's sleeve. "Maybe we should get out of here."

"No way," Putata said. "Hanana? Are you okay?"

Hanana nodded.

"So," Putata drawled, folding his arms. "Did you all just look down and realize your balls weren't big enough to pick on people your own size? Is that why you're harassing girls now?"

"Fuck off," the one holding the project said. He looked at Mekeke. "Got yourself a boyfriend, freak?"

Mekeke tensed. Putata waited for him to say something back, but he just went quiet.

"Don't go projecting your latent homosexual urges on others," Putata said. "Give Hanana back her project."

"Or what?" The lead boy switched hands. He wound up his arm, making to throw it. "It's pretty light. How far do you think it'll go?"

Hanana blanched.

"I said, give it back." Putata's heart was pounding. He looked at Mekeke for assistance, but the other boy was staring at the ground. The bullies were right; Putata had no power to stop them.

Luckily, the door they had just come through banged open with such force that all of them jumped. The boy holding Hanana's project fumbled and dropped it. The Styrofoam mountain fell off, along with a few trees. Hanana's mouth twisted.

"What's going on here? I heard shouting," Yukiki said.

One of the boys looked Yukiki up and down, then spit at his feet. "We were just leaving. Have fun, _snitch._ " Then his head swiveled toward Mekeke. Putata felt Mekeke's fingers twist in the back of his shirt. The thug said nothing, but he shared a couple glances with his mates, chuckling under his breath.

Once they were gone, Mekeke released Putata's shirt with a large exhale. _It was them and he knows it._ Mekeke's black eye was fading, but not invisible. A sour taste spread through Putata's mouth. They had Mekeke too scared to even stand up for himself.

"Thank you so much," Hanana said, kneeling to retrieve her project.

"Are you hurt?" Yukiki asked as he gathered the spray painted mountain. He glanced at Mekeke and Putata. Now it was Putata's turn to tense up. "Either way, they'll be reported for harassment."

"They won't get in trouble for it," Mekeke said.

"It's my job to get people in trouble," Yukiki replied with more than a hint of satisfaction. "I'm sure _something_ unpleasant will come their way." He returned his attention to Hanana. "You're sure you're fine. They didn't touch you, did they?"

She shook her head. "Just intimidation. This is the first time they ever bothered me. I don't know what their problem is." She accepted the mountain from Yukiki and placed it back on the board. "Thanks, you guys. I owe you, Putata."

"No repayment necessary. That's what friends are for, right?"

She smiled. "And thank you too, Yukiki."

Yukiki very clearly looked somewhere else as he murmured a reply.

Mekeke and Putata shared a glance. Ordinarily, Putata would have wiggled his eyebrows or grinned, but his emotions were in such a jumble that all he could do was look sadly at the fading bruise around Mekeke's eye.

 

The rest of the break was tense. Mekeke didn't talk much. Putata suspected that the run in with the bullies had shaken him. As they walked back to class, Putata remembered the flier Samama had given him.

"Hey," he said, hoping to lighten the mood. He held up the crumpled paper. "How about this?"

Mekeke frowned. "Are you asking me to go or...?"

"No, no!" Putata said quickly. "It's just set up. Decorations and stuff. Are you interested?"

Mekeke plucked the flier from Putata's hand and scanned it. "I didn't even know we had a winter formal."

"That's what I said."

"They're doing this when?"

"After school next week."

Mekeke shrugged. "I guess I can do it. Though, I've got this thing..."

"You don't have to come to all the meetings," Putata suggested. "Is it a job?"

"Sort of." He blushed a little. Putata couldn't believe what he was seeing. "I babysit."

Putata blinked. "Babysit."

"She's eight years old and both her parents work all the time so I'm locked in for the afternoons that I'm not at my other job." Even his ears were pink now.

"Oh." Putata had heard of it. He hadn't pegged Mekeke as the type look after other people's kids. "Are you doing that today?"

"Yeah. Why?" Understanding crossed his face. "No. No, you're not coming with."

"Why not?" Putata whined. "I want to see."

"There's nothing _to_ see."

"I could help you. Are you not allowed to bring friends along?"

"Well, no, but..."

"Then it's fine. I don't have anything to do today."

Mekeke sighed. "Alright, you might as well come. I can't stop you." A smile suddenly appeared on his lips. "Actually, it'll be nice for her to meet someone new."

Putata grinned back. "Cool. I'll just go wherever you're going after class."

"Be warned, she's shy."

"I'm sure she's wonderful," Putata said.

Mekeke looked away, not enough to disguise the look of fondness on his face. "She is."

 

Despite the impression he gave, Putata put a lot of thought into his appearance. His school uniform might have been worn terribly, but it was a calculated kind of terribleness – something that projected slacker, artist, and skater all in one. And since he'd be seeing Mekeke in street clothes today, it was important to look a cross between "charming rebel" and "laid back" without revealing just how much deliberation went into it.

Mekeke had insisted meeting at the rec center. Yet another missed opportunity to see the inside of his apartment. Putata took his skateboard there. He wondered what Mekeke looked like outside of school. What would a scholarship kid be able to afford?

Black, mostly. Black jeans, black sneakers, a black wristband. He definitely stood out. In fact, he looked a lot better than he did in the second hand uniform. Putata felt a little giddy.

"Hey," he said, waving.

Mekeke had been checking his watch. _Who wears watches anymore?_ He smirked. "Nice shirt," he said. "Did you make that yourself?"

Putata smiled proudly, tugging at the fabric. The three syllables of his name were split and stacked on top of each other, stenciled in his three favorite colors. He had debated over whether to go with this one or the one with the whale. "Yeah. Went through at least a gallon of fabric paint and three shirts before I got it just right."

"I like it."

Putata smiled wider. "Thanks," he said, hoping that he wasn't fucking blushing right now, because it wasn't the first time someone had complimented it but it sounded so good coming from Mekeke…

"It's actually a good thing you're here," Mekeke said as they went inside. "My phone hasn't been replaced yet, so I can't use any emergency contacts while we're out. If something happens, is it okay if I use yours?"

"Yeah, of course."

"I haven't had to use them yet, but better safe than sorry. You know what I mean?"

It was funny. Mekeke was so much more relaxed outside of school. He was definitely smiling more. He walked with his chin lifted. Putata wanted to take a picture so that he could paint it later. His fingers ghosted over the phone in his pocket. Would Mekeke be mad if he snapped a candid?

"Mekeke!"

"Hi, Nuii!"

A small girl was running towards them. Mekeke bent down so that she could fling her arms around his neck. She must have been eight at least. She glanced at Putata in confusion.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"That's Putata. He goes to my school," Mekeke explained, breaking the hug.

Nuii looked him up and down. Putata did the same. She kept her hands behind her back and scuffed the ground with one Mary Jane encased foot.

"Hi," she said in a barely audible voice.

Putata crouched so that he was on her level. He extended a hand. "Nice to meet you."

Nuii glanced at Mekeke. He nodded. She and Putata shook. Her hand was so tiny. She had painted her nails in various colors. The tiniest of smiles appeared on her face.

Once the greeting was over with, Mekeke scooped her up and set her against his hip, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Though they weren't related, it would be an easy mistake to make. Putata felt a brief stab of jealousy.

"Do you want to keep reading that book?" Mekeke asked, carrying Nuii out of the rec center. Putata followed, his hands in his pockets.

Nuii nodded emphatically. "Let's go to the library!" She pointed ahead of her. "Let's go!"

Putata drew even with Mekeke and whispered, "She's really sweet."

He nodded, his good eye brimming with warmth.

 

Putata had never had that much fun in a library before. Nuii warmed up to him quickly when she found out he could draw. While she sat on Mekeke's lap, reading a small chapter book, Putata passed her simple pencil doodles.

"Quit distracting her," Mekeke said lightly.

"I don't mind," Nuii murmured, turning a page. She would take a second to look at each one, smile, then tuck it into her pocket for later. It was too cute. Putata couldn't resist.

He also couldn't resist drawing Mekeke. None of the short library pencils had erasers and the only paper available were little scraps for writing down call numbers, but he drew Mekeke all the same. It was difficult to capture him in so little space. Putata kept feeling like he was cutting bits off. He did manage to get his smile.

Mekeke leaned over. "What's that?"

"Just a sketch," Putata answered quickly, shoving it into his pocket.

 

"That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Mekeke rolled his eye. "No, I guess not. She warmed up to you quick."

"I'm good with kids, man," Putata said. "She was adorable."

They had just dropped Nuii off at the rec center to be picked up and were on their own again. Mekeke didn't seem to be in rush to get anywhere, so they lingered on the sidewalk. Putata rocked back and forth on the skateboard.

"So, are you up for the decorations thing?" he asked.

"Huh? Yeah, sure. This doesn't conflict so…" Mekeke trailed off. He kept playing with his watch. "Don't you have to be somewhere?"

"No." Putata continued to rock. "Should I be?"

Mekeke shook his head. "I just thought that a guy like you would have better things to do than stand around in front of the rec center."

Putata laughed. "Then let's go somewhere."

"I don't…" For a moment, Mekeke seemed torn. His eye darted around. "Actually, I have homework. Studying, you know."

Putata's smile drooped. Foiled again. Then an idea struck.

"Hey!" he said, snapping his fingers. "We should work together. Maybe you can help me."

"You want me to tutor you? I'm no good at explaining things." Mekeke shook his head and waved his hands at the same time, which Putata read as a serious denial indeed. Still, he pushed on.

"Oh come on," he pleaded. "You're smart. I'm sure I can learn something." He took a deep breath. "I'm probably failing Shurara's class and if I get another F, I have to live at home again and no one wants that."

Mekeke's conflicted expression grew worse. He lowered his hands. "If you really need help that badly, I guess you can come over."

Putata resisted the urge to fist pump. Finally! It was true that he would have to go back to the ancestral home if he got another failing mark, but he was actually managing in Shurara's class – as much as the teacher hated him. He felt a little guilty for lying, even though there was no harm in it. He just really wanted to see what Mekeke's apartment was like.

On their walk to the train station, Mekeke asked, "You really want to avoid living with your parents, huh?"

"Totally." Putata adjusted the skateboard underneath his arm. "My mom is a complete stiff. She doesn't like me being an artist. She thinks I'm going to end up on the streets after graduation. My brother is a dick, too."

"Your dad?"

"I hardly ever see him. He's always at work."

"Huh." Mekeke tilted his head. "I guess a lot of people's families are like that."

"God, I hope not. What about you?"

"What about me?"

It was clearly a deflection. Putata frowned. "What about your family? I know you live by yourself, but you've probably got a mom or dad somewhere."

"Somewhere," Mekeke said, his voice hollow. "If they're out there, I haven't met them."

Putata stopped walking. "Wait. You never met your parents?"

"No. They, uh, gave me up. I went through foster care for a while…" He gave his head a sharp shake. "I don't know why I'm telling you this."

"Because you trust me?" Putata said softly.

Mekeke looked at him for a long time. Putata didn't know whether to speak and break the moment, or keep staring at Mekeke forever. In the end, it was Mekeke who moved first.

"We're gonna miss the train," he said, spinning on his heel.

Putata jogged to keep up. The crowd of people heading home from work nearly swallowed Mekeke whole.

"Wait up!" Putata called. He was afraid of being swallowed too. He reached out for Mekeke's arm and caught it. The crowd pushed them together, forcing Putata to tuck in his elbow and half loop his arm through Mekeke's.

Mekeke glanced down. His face burned red for a second. "Sorry," he said.

"No problem. I've got you now." Putata let out a nervous chuckle. He was sort of enjoying it. Mekeke was solid and reassuring. He absentmindedly ran his palm across the other boy's upper arm once or twice. If Mekeke noticed — and he had to — he didn't comment.

When the train arrived, the crush only got more intense. Putata and Mekeke were half pulled, half propelled into the car. If they hadn't been holding onto each other, they might have ended up separated. They found themselves squished into a corner.

"Hi," Putata said, aware that they were fully in each other's personal space now.

"Hi," Mekeke replied.

The rest of the ride passed in silence. Mekeke obviously didn't want to talk anymore. Putata hoped he hadn't blown his chances at being invited inside. He took the opportunity to check his text messages.

Hanana had tried to get in touch with him earlier. He'd forgotten to turn the phone off silent after they left the library. Putata debated on whether to call her. He decided it could wait until he was done hanging out with Mekeke.

The car emptied out until it was even more barren than the first time Putata had gone this way. The station was deserted when they got off. In the darkening evening, Putata shivered. This was exactly the kind of train station where ghosts showed up.

Again, he walked with Mekeke to his building and rode the elevator up. This time, however, he was able to follow Mekeke to his front door. It was plain wood, with a peephole set in and a number plaque beside it.

"It's going to be messy," Mekeke warned as he sorted out his keys.

"Don't care."

Mekeke's version of messy was tamer than Putata's, but it would have made someone like Yukiki burst a blood vessel. Mekeke's shoes — rain boots and uniform shoes only, Putata noticed — lay in a heap beside the door. Putata added his sneakers to the pile. Beyond that, every surface in the tiny living room was covered with papers and cardboard and sewing supplies. The kitchen sink was full of plates that had yet to be washed.

"This is it," Mekeke said, holding out his arms.

Putata stepped over a stack of newspapers and examined the coffee table. There was so much string, he could hardly tell where one ended and another began. He was impressed.

"I would have been surprised if it was clean," Putata said.

"You really don't care?"

"No."

Mekeke relaxed a little. "Just throw whatever off the sofa."

Putata shifted some old notebooks out of the way and sat. It was old, so he didn't so much "sit" as "sink." The frame creaked. He smiled at it fondly. There was something charming about it, but he couldn't put his finger on what that was exactly.

"You want a glass of water or something?" Mekeke called from the kitchenette.

"Yeah." Putata let his eyes skim over the living room again, seeking out details about Mekeke. There was a lot of stuff on the walls: crayon drawings (probably Nuii's), some old photos, random designs and newspaper articles. Putata got up to inspect one more closely.

Like everything else in the apartment, it was well worn and faded. Still, the headline was clear, announcing the winners of a small scale science fair. The photo beneath it showed the first, second, and third place recipients next to their hard work. Putata recognized Mekeke immediately, even with two eyes. He clutched his second place ribbon triumphantly, a huge, scraggle-toothed grin on his face.

"You didn't come over just to snoop through my stuff, did you?" Mekeke asked, setting a glass down on the table with a loud clunk.

"I was just curious." Putata pointed at the photo. "What did you win for?"

"A Rube-Goldberg machine."

"So you're good at that stuff too, huh? Cool."

Mekeke shrugged. "I'm not an engineer. I just know how to fit little pieces together." He unzipped his backpack and pulled out a fat notebook. "What are you having trouble with?"

Putata had almost forgotten he'd come over to study. "Oh, well… everything?"

Mekeke sighed. "I should probably review too. Sit down."

 

Putata ended up staying at Mekeke's a bit later than expected. He had wanted to hang around longer, but Mekeke very strongly hinted that he had to eat soon, so Putata excused himself and took the train home alone. It didn't matter. He was still riding a high from being let in to his friend's apartment at all.

He called Hanana after dinner, when he knew she'd pick up. She sounded stressed when she answered. A red flag went up in Putata's mind. He should have gotten back to her sooner.

"Is this a bad time?" he asked.

"No, it's not a bad time at all. Um…" He listened to her walk, then close a door. "So what's this about?"

"You tried to call me earlier. Did you need something?"

"Oh. That. Er, you know, never mind that. I think I've got it."

"Is this about those guys?"

"No! Not at all. I'm fine," she assured him. "I just… I had this problem and I wasn't sure what to do, but then I figured it out. So it's all good."

Putata raised an eyebrow. "A problem with what?"

"Don't worry about it," Hanana said hastily. "I've, uh, got something to do. I'll talk to you later. Bye!"

She hung up. Putata stared at the phone. _That was weird._ She was acting really on edge. Putata sincerely hoped her problem was solved and that it had nothing to do with the bullies from earlier. He could always ask her about it tomorrow. Maybe she'd be more comfortable talking face to face.

_It could be…_ But Putata dismissed it. Why would she worry about _that_?


	4. Chapter 4

Mekeke and Putata were assigned to snowflake duty. While people ran around putting up posters and designing banners, the two of them sat in an unused classroom, cutting paper. Putata didn't mind. He would rather create something than tape fliers. Although he and Mekeke were getting a little carried away.

"What the…?" Samama said, picking up an intricate snowflake from the pile. It was patterned in alternating snowmen and stars. "You're making decorations for a school dance, not an art gallery."

"But they're fun!" Putata protested. "They look cool like that."

Mekeke held up his latest creation. It was three dimensional and more resembled a fancy paper lantern than a snowflake. "You could probably stick a light in here…" he mused.

"Samama, can we?" Putata asked, looking up at her.

Samama rolled her eyes. "Just stick to the basics. You're here to help. Quit showing off." She swatted him with a stack of fliers and moved on.

"No one appreciates artistic genius," Putata grumbled as he cut another pattern. "Don't they want us to go all out?"

"They are a little… flashy," Mekeke admitted, surveying their growing collection of snowflakes. "Knowing the rest of the committee, they'll probably tear them on accident."

"This reminds me of when I was kid. We used to do fun projects like these all the time."

Mekeke smiled. "We used to make decorations for a class Christmas tree from scratch. Popcorn strings, paper chains…" He sighed, swept up in nostalgia. "It was great."

Putata nodded, but he was thinking of the upcoming holiday. He'd have to go home for sure. His mother would command it. It would go badly, just like every Christmas before it. He could already picture dinner: him not knowing what to say, Siroro with all new ways to belittle him, his mother prepared with spring loaded complaints, and his father — impassive, uncaring, and silent.

"You're spacing."

"Gah!" Putata shook his head violently. He had to stop doing that. "Sorry, I got excited and started daydreaming about Christmas." It was half true at least. He looked for something to deflect attention away from himself. "Hey, Hana. How are you doing with untangling those?"

Hanana smiled wearily. She had offered to go through the box of Christmas lights and work out their knots. It was turning out to be a much bigger project than she'd anticipated, especially since she was stuck doing it alone.

"I'll get it done eventually," she said, picking at a particularly difficult snare with her fingernails.

"Do you need help?" No one had noticed Yukiki enter. He was carrying a stack of construction paper and looking quite displeased with it.

"Oh, I…" Hanana said, glancing at Mekeke and Putata.

Yukiki pulled up a desk, dropping his papers on an empty seat. "This is a two person task," he said as he picked up the mess of lights. "It'll be done faster with another pair of hands."

"Thank you." Hanana ducked her head.

Putata watched them for a minute. They both avoided looking at each other to the point that they failed to seem casual. Neither allowed their hands to wander across desks and made pains not to reach into the box of wires at the same time. It was more than a little suspicious.

He finally looked away when he caught Yukiki staring back with a disapproving glare. Putata concentrated on his snowflakes. A second later, Mekeke nudged his foot.

"Is something up?" he whispered.

"Nah. I'm just a little surprised Scrooge over there is helping out. I thought he was allergic to Christmas."

Mekeke lowered his voice further. "Are you… Do you like Hanana?"

"What? No. She's my friend." Putata gently kicked Mekeke from under his desk. "Where did you get that from?"

Mekeke shrugged. "You two seem pretty close and the way you were staring…"

"We're just friends. Hanana's sweet, but I don't think I'm her type."

"Well, that's a relief," Mekeke said, kicking him back. "For a second there I thought you were jealous."

Putata tried to hold down Mekeke's foot with his. "As if. I'm not a jealous person in the first place."

Mekeke wriggled free and tried to kick him again, only to have Putata hook his ankle around Mekeke's leg. "And I bet you don't hold grudges either, huh? We should start calling you Saint Putata."

"I'll set up a temple." Their knees bumped. "That way I can bless my followers with optimism and artistic talent." He winked.

"Shouldn't you two be working?" Yukiki said.

Until that point, Putata hadn't been aware they were being watched. Hanana wasn't getting involved, but she shot a sympathetic glance their way.

"We can't talk while we work?" Putata asked, opening and closing his scissors a couple time. He still found it hard to look Yukiki in the eye.

"You're distracting," the older boy said. "You're supposed to be making decorations, not playing footsie."

Putata frowned. "What's it to you?" He felt Mekeke slide his leg away.

"Nothing, I guess," Yukiki admitted, turning his attention back to the wires. "Just save your flirting for when you're in private."

Mekeke put down his scissors loudly and got up. "Bathroom," he muttered by way of explanation. He was gone before Putata could speak.

"Me too," Hanana said quickly, dropping the Christmas lights and scurrying out even faster than Mekeke.

Putata also wanted to escape, but seeing as Hanana had beaten him to it, he was stuck alone in a room with Yukiki. The last time this had happened, the results had been disastrous. Putata made the rare decision not to speak. He continued cutting out snowflakes.

For a long time, the only sounds were the slice of the scissors through paper and the rustle of wires against the side of the box. It seemed like Mekeke and Hanana were never coming back. Putata jogged his leg as he worked. Had they just left?

"Where do these need to go?" Yukiki asked.

Putata glanced over. The lights had been untangled and were neatly coiled on the desk. Despite himself, Putata was impressed. How had he done that so fast? He and Hanana must have made some real progress.

"Take them to Samama. She'll know."

Yukiki mumbled a thanks and piled the coils into the box. He picked up the neglected pile of construction paper. Putata jumped when it landed on his desk, disturbing the scraps and sending pieces of white paper flying in every direction.

"That's for making chains," Yukiki said. "Samama said to knock yourself out."

Putata waited until he had gone, then shifted the stack aside. There were still snowflakes to make. His hands were shaking. _Where is Mekeke? He shouldn't be taking this long._

As if on cue, Mekeke returned, his shoulders slumped. A thousand red flags were going up now, along with alarm bells and emergency sirens. It was only when Mekeke wiped his face with the back of his hand that Putata realized what was wrong.

"Shit, you're bleeding!" he said, springing from his chair.

"It's fine. I got it." Mekeke rubbed his lip again, smearing blood across his chin. "I thought it stopped but I guess…"

Putata grabbed Mekeke's wrists. "Who was it? Where?"

"Let go."

"Don't come in here with a busted lip and act like it's nothing."

"I said, let go of me!" Mekeke wrenched his hands free. "I'm fine."

"What happened?"

Mekeke seemed very interested in his shoes. "I was coming back and they slammed me into the wall. It was nothing." A drop of his blood fell to the tiled floor.

"That's not nothing," Putata said. How could he have been sitting here, worrying about himself while Mekeke got hurt? Why was he always arriving late?

"It's nothing compared to what they usually do."

"At least let me get you some ice. That's going to swell like crazy."

Mekeke sat down. "Okay," he said quietly.

 

Putata walked him home again. He couldn't think of what to say. Between the bloody lip and the awkwardness with Yukiki, he was at a total loss for words. He was already predicting another sleepless night. How could he relax with all this stuff going on in his head?

"You're being really quiet," Mekeke observed. "Is something up?"

Putata shrugged.

"Normally you'd be talking my ear off."

Again, Putata shrugged. He was trying to concentrate on where he was walking. _Left, right. Left, right. Get your card from your pocket. Swipe. Through the turnstile, not over it. You don't need to talk to the security people again._ It took Mekeke shaking him to get through.

"You're being weird. Stop it."

"Sorry," Putata said, rubbing his eyes. "I just… feel bad."

"Please don't. This isn't your fault."

"We should have reported it."

"I already told you that doesn't work."

Putata's hand curled into a fist. He wasn't a model student, but his family had influence. If he could bite the bullet and work some of his charm on the administration, maybe they would listen to him. It made his stomach turn just thinking about it, though. He didn't want to be like his brother, constantly dropping the family name whenever it could get him out of trouble.

Today wasn't his day.

"Anyway," Mekeke said with a heavy breath, indicating he wanted to change the subject. "What's the deal with you and Yukiki?"

Oh God, where to begin? Putata tried laughing it off first. "He hates me. Isn't that obvious?"

"Well yeah, but why?"

"It'd be easier to list what he _doesn't_ have against me. I'm a rule breaker and, as a glorified hall monitor, it grinds his gears that I haven't been expelled yet."

Mekeke smiled. "And you sass him back. I never would have done that in a million years."

Putata wagged a finger at him. "Yukiki's all bark and no bite. I swear, he's an old man possessing the body of a teenager. Luckily he'll graduate next year and we won't have to deal with him anymore."

"I think he's looking forward to it, too," Mekeke said. "He hates everyone. But he hates you the most and I don't get it. Did you do something?"

"Like what? I didn't prank him personally or anything. I'd be dead if I did."

"I just thought you must have gotten yourself a permanent spot on his list of most hated people in the world. In bold. The atmosphere in that room was awful. I don't know how you could stand it!"

Putata rubbed his neck. "Yeah, he was probably having a bad day or something. We were the straw that broke the camel's back is all. Don't worry about it."

Mekeke shot him a dubious look, but fell silent. Putata had the strange sensation of being looked through, of that golden eye digging underneath his skin to the truth.

 

Putata had a dream about Mekeke that weekend, but he couldn't remember much of it when he woke up. The time on his phone was 3 AM. He sank back against his pillow, music playing softly in his ears, and wondered if anyone else was awake.

The blankets were too hot. Putata kicked them off, then decided to get a glass of water. Usually, he remembered his dreams in vivid detail, especially if he was dragged out in the middle of them. This one hadn't been fully formed in the first place. He knew Mekeke was in it and that they were both soaking wet, as though they had both jumped into the pool.

He wished Mekeke had a working cell. He was dying to call him. Putata stumbled over to his sink and filled a glass. The song changed to something with a stronger beat. There was no point going back to sleep. He might as well ride on until morning.

Putata sat down at his desk. It was a wreck. Remnants of sketches, underused textbooks, and paper plates crowded every inch of space. He pushed some of it aside to make room for his glass. He opened all of the drawers and rummaged through them until he found his old phone.

It was last year's model, but that had never mattered to Putata. It worked, and it already had a SIM card. He turned it on. Last time he had used it was to delete all the old contacts and pictures before he planned to sell it. The background was some random default picture of water.

Putata went in search of the jeans he'd worn the day he met Nuii. As he thought, the drawing of Mekeke was still in the pocket. He smoothed it out on the desk and aimed the lamp at it. Then he snapped a picture. It wasn't his best work, but it made a nice background.

After some thought, he added his number to the contacts.

Hopefully Mekeke wouldn't object to random text messages at 3 AM.

 

It was a delicate process. Putata had to do it before school, away from prying eyes and the rumor mill. The phone was burning a hole in his pocket. He didn't know what he'd do if Mekeke rejected the offer. He was optimistic that he'd accept.

The little gazebo was not the most private place, but it was where Mekeke hung out before school. Putata waited for him to arrive, his legs bouncing. Last night's lack of sleep hadn't quite hit him yet. He was wired with purpose.

"What are you doing here?" Mekeke asked as he walked in. There were ten minutes until the first bell. "I thought you would be inside already."

"I was waiting for you." Putata hopped up. He slipped the phone out of his pocket and presented it with a flourish. "I found this while I was looking for stuff last night. I thought you might like it. To replace the one you lost."

Mekeke stared at it. He blinked once, then twice. "For me?"

"Yeah."

"You just had an old phone lying around."

Putata held his current cell up and shook it. "My dad got me this as a birthday present. I was going to sell that one, but I never got around to it. Then I started thinking, 'Hey, Meke's phone is busted. He needs this more than I do.' Take it."

"I can't accept this," Mekeke said, but he seemed reluctant.

"You need a phone, man. Didn't you say you had to have a way to call Nuii's parents?" He held his arm out a little farther. "Let's call it a loan. You can return it if you want to buy your own."

Mekeke bit his lip. He took the phone. Putata didn't bother containing his grin. He watched Mekeke turn the device over in his hands, his eye going wide. "This is… this is pretty fancy."

"I know your last one had a keyboard," Putata said. "Sorry if that's what you like. Touchscreen is all I have."

"No, it's perfect!" Mekeke said. "I mean…" His pale skin was turning pink. "That is, it's really nice of you to let me have this. No one's ever given me something like this before. I'm afraid I'll break it."

Putata laughed. "They're actually pretty durable. Just try not to drop it on its face."

He was rewarded with a tiny smile. Mekeke turned it on. Putata watched his expression carefully. Both Mekeke's eyebrows rose, but he didn't look displeased. The tiny smile grew wider.

"When did you draw this?" he asked.

"At the library." Now Putata was blushing, which was super embarrassing because there was no reason for it. He put his hands in his pockets.

"I like it."

Damn it, he was probably redder than a fire engine right now. Putata looked in another direction. Mekeke's smile was doing things to him. _Be cool, be cool._

"We should probably get going," Mekeke said, putting his new phone away. He nodded in the direction of the main school building. "You coming?"

"Yeah." Putata followed Mekeke out of the gazebo and quickly fell into step beside him. It was cold enough to see his breath in the air, but he felt unbearably warm.

"Thanks." Mekeke patted his pocket.

"You're welcome."

 

"So what's this I hear about a totally awkward stand-off between you and Yukiki?" Samama asked.

"First," Putata said, holding up one finger, "it wasn't a stand-off."

Samama shrugged. "Call it what you want. It happened, didn't it?"

"Second." Two fingers now. "How did you even hear about that?"

Samama curled a strand of red hair around her finger. "Hanana tells me everything. She said it got so bad in there that she had to leave the room. Could this have something to do with the legendary ski trip?"

Putata was seriously considering packing his bags and moving to a different city. If only his parents wouldn't immediately put out a search for him. If only Mekeke could come with.

"I've already told you: what happened on the ski trip is none of your business."

"As one of the chief organizers of said ski trip, I have the right to know if something serious and/or life threatening happened," Samama retorted. "Did you two get in a fight?"

"No comment."

Samama made a dissatisfied noise. "I bet you've told your new flame." She jerked her head in Mekeke's direction, as if it wasn't already obvious enough. "You two are getting closer every day. Hanana said you were playing footsie before the whole Yukiki thing happened. When are you going to hook up?"

"Again, I've told you we're not a thing."

"Can you look me in the eye and say you haven't at least _thought_ about it?"

Putata stared at her for a few seconds. She didn't blink. "If I said I had, what do you get from it?"

"Nothing, I guess. I just want to know, one way or the other. I'm not convinced that you're buddying up to him because you're that nice of a guy."

"You wound me."

"It's just a little suspicious is all."

Putata threw up his hands. "What? I like hanging out with him. He's really cool once you get to know the guy. What's wrong with trying to be his friend? I'm friendly with everyone."

"I think you protest a little too much. All I'm saying is that you're acting like a girl with a crush," Samama said, standing up. "You keep looking at him. And don't think I haven't seen you doodling him in your notebook."

"I go all out," Putata replied. "There's no crush involved."

Samama shrugged one shoulder. "If you say so." Her gaze lingered on Mekeke for a minute, before she got up and went to sit next to Hanana.

Though he was glad she'd stopped bothering him, Putata wasn't happy about the way she and Hanana were whispering to each other. They were too far away to hear, but Putata noticed how Samama had her head bent toward Hanana's, and the way she covered her lips with her hand. At one point, Hanana glanced over her shoulder at him, then turned away.

This had to be about Hanana's secret crisis. It made sense that she would tell Samama and not him. Girls trusted other girls more than they trusted guys. Putata couldn't help but be a little frustrated though, especially since she had tried to talk to him about it. Why couldn't she tell him?

Everyone returned to their original places as Shurara walked in, carrying a fat folder full of their — presumably — disappointing tests. He did his usual search. Putata waited for the inspection to end with sweating palms. Even though he was prepared this time, Shurara never got any less scary.

"Glad to see you're finally following the dress code," Shurara said as he passed Putata's desk.

"Thank you, sir," Putata said quietly, not making eye contact. He allowed himself a quick look in Mekeke's direction. The other boy was the picture of calm.

To everyone's relief, the patrol ended with an empty-handed Shurara. Next time, they might not be so lucky. He would be on high alert. There was nothing Shurara hated worse than failing to find a violation in the classroom. Putata suspected he got off on it.

Shurara must have been in a pretty bad mood that day, because his lecture was ten times more boring than usual. Putata had to prop his head up with both hands. The effects of last night were catching up. Falling asleep in Shurara's class was synonymous with instant death, a fate that most students tried to avoid. However, there would occasionally be someone who couldn't resist, and the stories of what happened to said students were too horrible to contemplate.

Putata kicked himself in the leg. It didn't do much, but it kept him from blacking out. His chin was slipping from his hands. If his head hit the desk, it was all over. Shurara would cut off his head and mount it on the wall. Maybe if he jabbed himself in the hand with his pencil…

A folded up piece of notebook paper landed on his desk. He stared at it. Then he used his peripheral vision to look around the classroom. Mekeke was taking notes, but his eye kept darting over to Putata. He nodded, almost imperceptibly.

Putata opened the note underneath his desk. He pretended to write something down, so that Shurara wouldn't question why his head wasn't up.

**You look like you're going to pass out. What's up?**

How Mekeke had managed to get a note passed was beyond Putata. Getting caught note passing was worse than sleeping. Only students who had a death wish dared to try it and all of them were caught and punished immediately. Except Mekeke.

Shurara had his back to the classroom. He was too busy writing on the whiteboard. Putata quickly tore a corner from his notebook and scribbled a reply.

**I had about 4 hrs of sleep last night. I'm fine.**

He folded it twice, then wrote Mekeke's name on it. Without looking, he held the note out under the desk behind him. It was a gamble, and a risky one at that, but the kid behind him was apparently feeling emboldened after the day's search.

A few minutes went by before Putata received another. His heart was pounding. This was starting to become really dangerous. Shurara kept moving between the whiteboard and the textbook on his desk. There was no telling when he'd notice – and he _would_ notice. It was only a matter of time.

This note was longer.

**You're kidding, right? 4 hours? I know you can live on that but it's the bare minimum. You need** ** 8 ** **. How did you even come 2 school? Don't tell me you're fine, you liar I've seen your head drop 2x.**

Putata needed a bit more paper for his answer.

**What r u, my mom? Sleep is for the weak. Hate to say it but ur being really hypocritical. Whenever I get worried about u, ur all "bluh I don't need ur help this is nothing." Why r u fussing over me all of a sudden?**

**PS: we're gonna get in so much trouble if he sees**

The next note had two different messages on it.

**The Overlord will kill you if you fall asleep and you're gonna run yourself into the ground. Your problem is fixable. Mine isn't.**

**PS: I thought you liked trouble ;) okay, that was embarrassing, not doing it again.**

The other note had been written the outside.

**This is Hana. Please please please go see the nurse instead of falling asleep in class :( and stop passing notes, it's automatic detention!**

Putata rolled his eyes at that one. He had enough to handle with Mekeke. He didn't need Hanana getting on his case too. He was writing out a reply when a shadow crossed his desk. Their luck had run out.

"Seems you can't go a day without causing some sort of disruption," Shurara said, snatching the note from Putata's hands. "Let's see if your topic of discussion is on today's lecture."

All eyes were on him. Mekeke's head was on his desk, his hands in his hair. Hanana was shaking in her seat. Putata felt a stab of guilt. He had unwittingly dragged her into this. Now she would get in trouble too. She should have just passed it on without adding her own commentary.

"Though the spelling is rather creative," Shurara said, positioning himself at the front of the class, "it says, 'You seriously call him the Overlord? That's hilarious. Anyway, it's not your job to keep me from getting demerits. You do not equal my mother. PS, breaking the rules is kind of hot, I'll admit. PPS, don't pass these through Hanana. I get enough nagging from you.'"

_Kill me. Please._ Putata hid his face in his hands. Mekeke was even worse: he had curled up tight in his seat and was running his fingers frantically through his hair. There were titters from the class. _I fucked up. I really fucked up._

"Mekeke, Putata, Hanana." Shurara crumpled up the note and dropped it into the wastebasket. "I'll see you in detention after class. Lab B."

 

"I can't believe this. Detention." Hanana sounded hollow. Her gaze was distant, as though she was looking far into the future. "I've never had detention before _in my life_."

Putata put an arm around her and patted her shoulder. "It's goings to be okay," he said.

"Don't lie to her," Mekeke said. "It's awful."

"My mom is going to be so upset!" She was close to tears. As far as Putata knew, Hanana had never even gotten a demerit. She had always been a good girl. The original stab of guilt twisted in Putata's gut.

"No, no, she'll understand," he said, petting her hair. "Your mom is a nice lady. Besides, it's our fault, not yours. Mekeke and I were the ones passing notes in the first place."

Hanana wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "You don't understand, I —" She gasped.

Samama and Yukiki were walking down the hall. Samama was yelling something at him. Yukiki appeared uncomfortable, but unmoved. Hanana ducked behind Putata and grabbed hold of his shirt. What was with her?

"Listen, she's a good kid and we both know it! It's those two who are at fault, so they deserve to get punished!" Samama pointed at where Mekeke and Putata hugged the wall. "Not her. This is totally unfair. Please talk to Shurara."

"You act like I make the rules around here," Yukiki replied coolly.

Samama glared at him, then spat, "Fine. I guess you're too noble to play favorites. In a way, I'm proud of you."

She turned on her heel and made a beeline for Putata, who flinched. Here came the wildfire… Now that her rage was no longer directed at him, Yukiki headed in the opposite direction. Hanana poked her head out from behind Putata's shoulder.

"Hanana, don't be like that," Samama said, putting her hands on her hips. "Yukiki is all bark and no bite. There's no reason to be scared of him."

"What were you shouting about?" Hanana asked.

Samama flipped her hair. "I was trying to get you out of detention. Yukiki has a soft spot for you, so I thought he might talk to Shurara and let you off the hook. Apparently he's too high and mighty for that. Sorry."

"You didn't have to do that," Hanana protested. "Don't ask him for favors! It wouldn't be fair for me to skip punishment while Mekeke and Putata still have to go."

"It's not fair that you're getting punished in the first place," Samama pointed out. She cut her eyes at Putata and Mekeke. "You guys, on the other hand, are idiots for even _thinking_ of passing notes in Shurara's class. You know he has eyes in the back of his head."

Mekeke twisted the hem of his sweater. "I'm the one who started it," he muttered.

"Yeah, but I went along with it," Putata added.

Samama smirked. "Because it was hot, right?"

Putata's face burned. "Shut up."

"Why?" Samama teased. "You're the one who wrote it."

He pulled free of Hanana and speed walked away, his hands in his pockets. A few moments later, he heard Mekeke's footsteps behind him.

"Putata, wait."

"I just want to get some air. You know, before we get locked in a stuffy lab for two hours."

Mekeke fell into step beside him. "It was a joke," he said. "We both know that."

"Yeah, _we_ know. Everyone else doesn't."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm surprised you're worried what they think."

Putata stopped. He stared at his reflection in the tile. "I don't. I'm tired. That's all."

"Speaking of, you should nap in detention," Mekeke suggested. "I was serious about that eight hours thing. Not getting enough sleep can actually kill you."

"I'm not that far gone. Listen, I'm really sorry I got us caught."

Mekeke shrugged. "We wouldn't have gotten caught if I hadn't written you a note in the first place. But I was worried so…"

"Don't be," Putata said. "Haven't you ever stayed up all night before?"

"Yeah. I used to do it all the time, until I went forty-eight hours without sleep, hallucinated that my feet went through the floor, and passed out in the middle of gym. That's when they made see a doctor."

Putata stared at Mekeke, wide-eyed. "Forty-eight hours?"

"Yeah."

"How did you go two straight days without sleeping?"

Mekeke rubbed the back of his neck. "When I was a kid, I used to mess up my sleep schedule all the time. It got so out of whack that I got paralyzed one night and thought there was this huge demon thing in my room. After that, I was so scared that I didn't want to go to sleep ever again."

"Wow." Putata couldn't think of anything better to say. "I think you've got me beat."

"Yeah, but this isn't the first time you almost blacked out in class. It takes an insomniac to know one," Mekeke said. "You keep doing things for me. I want to pay you back. Right now, it all feels uneven."

Putata laughed. "You don't have to cure me. I'm okay. And you don't have to pay me back either. I'm not about making bargains with friends."

"I…"

"Maybe neither of our problems are fixable. You won't talk to anyone and I can't sleep." He shrugged. "We've got twenty minutes 'til detention. Can we go outside?"

Mekeke clearly wanted to say more. Still, he nodded. "Sure. Let's go."


	5. Chapter 5

He shouldn't have slept in detention. Putata stared at the ceiling in the dark, replaying his conversation with Mekeke in his mind. It was about ten minutes past midnight and he already knew that he wouldn't be getting anything close to eight hours.

Mekeke's problem had been fear; Putata's was creativity. He needed to be up and doing things, not lying on his back and getting lost in dreams. He had always been careful not to push himself too far. The effects of his insomnia were under control. He could handle them.

After a few more minutes of silent suffering, he got up and turned on his desk lamp. He could fill empty spaces with art. He wanted – no, needed – to paint. His body demanded it. Putata rummaged through piles of art supplies for his watercolors.

He didn't know what he was sketching at first. His brain was a jumble of emotions and ideas, all competing for his attention. Putata angled the light so that it wouldn't hurt his eyes. The track on his phone switched to something calmer and he skipped past it. Now that he was working, he needed something more passionate to inspire him.

Slowly, the figure on the paper took shape, defining itself in soft lines and quiet strength. Putata didn't really have a shade of green that captured the color of Mekeke's hair, but he made do with what he had. A selfish, very adolescent part of his brain, wondered if Mekeke would ever let Putata paint him from life, and if he'd remove his eye patch for it.

What secrets lay beneath the eye patch? A lazy eye? Total blindness? Putata hadn't asked. He knew it would have been rude and that Mekeke would have avoided answering. He was starting to share more with Putata, but only snippets. The story about his sleep paralysis was the most honest he had been with Putata _ever_.

Putata sat back and looked over his painting. It was 1 AM. He still wasn't tired. The Mekeke in the painting was tied up in his cat's cradle, staring down at his hands sadly. Putata wasn't entirely sure what he meant by it, but that's what he painted and it was good. He always said his best ideas came at night.

_Maybe Samama's right: I_ am _obsessed._

He almost texted Mekeke. The phone was in his hand and his fingers were hovering over the keyboard when he realized that it might lead to more nagging. It was best to let it go for a while. He could entertain himself with his art. Besides, Mekeke was probably already asleep.

Putata grimaced as he started a new drawing. Today had been awful. On top of the humiliation and the detention, the administration felt it was time to call his mother. Putata pressed his pencil down a little harder than necessary.

He'd begged them not to, but they'd put him through to her anyway. He almost didn't recognize her voice, he hadn't heard it in so long.

"This is two detentions in a row," she said, skipping the hellos. "Your father and I expected you to be responsible and demonstrate that you were capable of managing yourself at school. I don't want to receive another phone call like this ever again. It's hard enough having to lie to my tea group about you, seeing as you never tell us how you're doing."

Putata had held in a sigh. He couldn't care less what his mother's tea group thought of him. Of course, there was no way he could say that to her. Instead, he mumbled, "Yes, Mama. It won't happen again. I'm sorry."

And that had been the end of their conversation.

The new drawing was of a faceless sleeper. Maybe if he visualized his goals, he could make them work. If only everything he ever painted came true. He pushed the paper aside. His mother had never approved of his art; she would be disappointed even further to know that her son wasted his time honing his talent when he could be sleeping, or doing actual homework. He'd have a lot to answer for when he went home for the holidays.

Putata tried to sleep again. His listened to his heartbeat against his pillow, dreading the day when school ended.

 

It had rained in the night. Putata rode his skateboard through a puddle, enjoying the wings of water that rose up after them, even if they got his pants wet. The day loomed ahead, with only the promise of Mekeke to lift his spirits. He had to make sure he didn't get caught dozing off in class today, otherwise it would be both Mekeke and Shurara on his ass.

Hanana was looking pretty haggard from yesterday. The shame must have been weighing on her. She seemed to be lacking her normal energy.

"Are you still beating yourself up over detention?" he asked.

She shook her head. "My mom wasn't as angry as I thought she'd be."

"Then why the long face?"

Hanana shrugged. "Isn't it cold out here?" she said, shivering for emphasis. "Let's go inside."

"I don't get why it had to rain," Putata said as he followed her indoors. "Shouldn't it have started snowing by now? I want a day off."

"It's only the beginning of the week."

"Yeah, and it's looking to be a crappy one."

"Look on the bright side," Hanana said, giving him a weak smile. "Break is coming up."

Putata tried to return her smile, but his heart wasn't in it. His mother's voice kept playing in his head. It would be worse in person, when he could actually see the disapproval in her eyes. Was there any way he could avoid going home?

For a second, he considered telling Hanana this, but thought better of it. It wouldn't be fair to dump his problems on her right now, not when she looked so down.

Mekeke was absent from class. Putata waited for him to walk in late, but he never showed. No one seemed to notice or care. Even Bariri was unconcerned as he put a note on his attendance chart. He was probably sick. Hopefully.

Something just wasn't sitting right with Putata. It could have been the weather, or Hanana's emotional slump, or the just the fact that the office had called his mother. He tried to brush it off.

"It's not the first time he's missed school," Samama said when she caught him looking back at Mekeke's empty desk for the third time since lunch started. "Maybe he has a dentist's appointment. Let it go."

"I'm worried. He was fine yesterday. Don't you think he would have mentioned it if he wasn't going to be in?"

Samama shrugged. "I don't know that much about him. He's your friend, not mine."

Putata stared out the window. The rain had started again. For all he knew, Mekeke could have overslept and decided not to bother.

_But he's worried about keeping his scholarship. He wouldn't just skip._

His train of thought came to a screeching halt when Yukiki walked through the door. Some of the class went quiet. It was rare for seniors, let alone Yukiki, to drop in. Either there was an emergency, or he had a personal reason for visiting. Putata hoped that he was not the reason for Yukiki's sudden appearance in the classroom.

To everyone's surprise, he went straight for Hanana, who sat up in her chair, a look of alarm on her face. Samama and Putata shared a look – Samama's more knowing than Putata's.

"This should be interesting," she said, placing her chin in her hand. "You're in luck, kid. I can guarantee you that everyone's gonna forget about your dirty note passing."

"They weren't dirty," Putata said. "What is he doing here?"

"Don't ask me. If anyone, ask Kabobo."

Kabobo, who had been silently eating, held up his hands. "Whoa, don't drag me into this. What Yukiki does is his business. He's a private guy. Your mistake is assuming he tells me anything."

Meanwhile, Yukiki had leaned over Hanana's desk. Whatever he was saying was lost in the ambient lunchtime noise. Hanana nodded once and stood up, albeit a little reluctantly. She looked around the room once before following Yukiki out.

"Suspicious," Putata said. He raised an eyebrow at Samama. "You know something about this."

She shook her head. "I have a hypothesis, but nothing to confirm it so far. Lots of evidence, no absolutes." Her eyes narrowed. "Hanana needs to make up her mind."

"About what?"

"No comment."

"I'm her friend too!"

Samama leveled her gaze with Putata's. "If she wanted you to know, she would have told you. In my opinion, she should have, but she's a big girl and can make her own decisions."

This just kept getting worse and worse. Putata groaned and got up. "Then I'll go find out on my own. I don't have anything better to do."

"I wouldn't if I were you," Samama advised.

"Well you're not, so…"

"You'd better not come crying to me if you hear something you don't want to!" she shouted after him, causing a few heads to turn.

Putata waved at her as he left. He wouldn't show her how much that last warning unsettled him. It wasn't clear what Samama meant, but the vagueness of it almost made it worse, like it was something he'd never expect.

Yukiki and Hanana hadn't gone far; they'd just rounded a corner. Putata stopped before he could enter their line of sight. Yukiki had his back turned, nearly blocking Hanana from view. She was twisting her hands in front of her.

"He hasn't told you what happened then?" Yukiki was saying. He sounded surprised.

"No." Hanana shook her head. "He didn't have to. I could tell that it went down like a lead balloon."

"Then why did you say—?"

Hanana cut him off. "Because it would hurt him. That should be reason enough."

"I don't understand. It was a year ago. Besides, he obviously has a new point of obsession."

There was a beat of silence. A chill crept up Putata's back. He should have walked away then and spared himself the pain. Something compelled him to stay.

"You don't know what it was like," Hanana said. "You don't know how he looked at you when your back was turned. You don't know how scared he was to tell me what he felt. And if you can't understand why I'm doing this, then maybe we're incompatible."

Putata quickly turned and bolted. He couldn't breathe. He needed to leave. This school was a prison, the classroom a cage. He needed to not feel like himself anymore. He hardly realized where he was going until he was standing at the school's front gate, panting.

It was just like back then: the trembling anxiety, completely foreign to him; the humiliation that seeped into his veins; the desperate desire to escape, to be anywhere but here.

Putata didn't want to go home. If he did, he'd be alone with his thoughts. He would rather stop thinking altogether. All he had on him were the contents of his pockets: his phone and some loose change, along with a couple rubber bands.

He counted the change. It was just shy of train fare. His pass was back in the classroom with his bag. It didn't matter. This wouldn't be the first time he'd jumped a turnstile and it probably wouldn't be the last.

What he needed, right now, was to see Mekeke.

 

Putata had to press the button twice before Mekeke answered.

"Who is it?" He sounded exhausted. Maybe he really was sick.

"It's Putata."

"Shouldn't you be at school?"

"Shouldn't you?"

Mekeke paused. "Come on up."

Putata fidgeted as he rode the elevator up. He should have called first, or texted. It wasn't fair to spring this on Mekeke, even if he was burning to visit. But he was here now.

Mekeke opened the door a crack. In the sliver between the frame and the door, Putata could only see the chain pulled taut, Mekeke's golden eye, and black clothes. Even that was enough to release the tension in his shoulders.

"Aren't you going to let me in?" he asked, smiling.

Mekeke glanced at the floor. "Just… don't get mad."

"Why would I be mad?"

Mekeke didn't answer. Instead, he unhooked the chain and allowed Putata into the apartment. He closed the door quickly again, as though something unpleasant would get in. Putata was momentarily distracted by the smell of burning and didn't notice the butterfly bandages on Mekeke's cheek at first. When he did, though, it didn't take long for him to see the rest of the other boy's injuries.

"Oh my God," Putata breathed.

He had thought the black eye and busted lip were bad. Now he understood why Mekeke insisted they were nothing. There was a large bandage stuck to Mekeke's forehead, along with some on his arms. Though the eye patch covered most of it, Putata could see the edges of a nasty bruise peeking out. They had targeted his other eye this time, for whatever reason. He also had a fresh cut on his lip.

"Is this why you didn't come to school?" Putata asked. He didn't know why he was being so quiet. All his problems seemed trivial in comparison.

Mekeke shrugged. "I didn't want them asking me questions."

Putata had nothing to say. He'd already said everything he was thinking before, only to be shut down, again and again. _I can't help him._ He was out of words.

So he hugged him instead. Mekeke stiffened, but didn't push him away. Putata was careful about where he put his arms, in case he accidentally hurt his friend. For a moment, Mekeke remained a wall. Then he melted slowly into the hug, dropping his forehead to Putata's shoulder. It occurred to Putata that no one treated Mekeke as though he were fragile.

"You're cold," Mekeke muttered.

"I left my jacket at school."

Mekeke stepped back. Putata nearly tightened his grip. _No. Stay._ However, it was better if he didn't push his luck. He let his arms fall to his sides again. He tried to not to reveal his disappointment.

"Did you come here because you were worried about me?" Mekeke asked.

"Not exactly," Putata admitted. "I was going to bring you your homework after school, but I guess that's out the window."

They sat on Mekeke's couch. Mekeke made them both warm lemonade. He sat with one leg tucked under the other, the mug cradled in his palms. Putata filed the image away for another sleepless night.

"Are you just playing hooky?"

"I got sick of being there."

"I know what you mean."

Putata ran his fingertips over the surface of his mug, where there were upraised nubs of paint. His hands were stiff from the cold. He felt safe here, warm. A lack of sleep headache pulsed beneath his skull.

"Can I tell you something I've never told anyone else?" Putata said, rubbing the blobs of paint.

Mekeke nodded.

He almost couldn't get the words out. Putata had held this inside for so long that it no longer had any business in the physical world. Saying it would mean acknowledging its existence. It would mean opening himself. Being exposed like that in front of Mekeke scared him. What would the other boy think? Yet he owed it to Mekeke to be the vulnerable one for once.

"Do you remember the ski trip last year?" he began, because it was easier than getting to the point.

"Yeah. I didn't go, but I know about it."

"I didn't want to go," Putata said. "I don't like skiing. Last time I went, my brother pushed me down the slope and I broke my wrist. So, bad memories. But my mom insisted. She thinks I should be networking with the other kids. She has my whole future mapped out." He was stalling and he knew it. So far, there was no reaction from Mekeke. "There was only one good thing about it."

When he didn't continue, Mekeke prompted, "What?"

Putata breathed in deeply. He let it out. "Yukiki."

Mekeke's eye widened, but he didn't comment.

"Anyway, I said a lot of things that I really regret," Putata finished. "I got over him, but not the embarrassment, you know. He already didn't like me and then things were so awkward that I actually called my brother to pull me out. I told my mom I caught the flu."

"So that's why…"

"Yeah. Now he hates me more than ever."

"Just out of curiosity," Mekeke said, "what did he say when you told him?"

Putata would never forget, no matter how hard he tried. That cold, overly formal rejection was stamped on his brain. "He said, 'I don't return the sentiment.'"

Mekeke winced.

Putata quickly gulped down his drink to prevent a tirade from flowing out. He'd ranted privately before, to his reflection. _Not, 'sorry, I don't feel that way about you.' Not, 'I'm flattered, but I already have someone I like.' What a waste of energy._

"On the bright side, this makes me feel better about how I rejected you," Mekeke said. "I thought I was pretty mean."

Putata shook his head. "No way. You were a gentleman in comparison."

Mekeke studied his cup. "So… you liked him."

"Yeah."

"Do you still like him?"

"No." Putata leaned against the arm of the couch. "I think… no, I _know_ he's got a thing for Hanana. Something happened between them, but she didn't tell me about it."

Mekeke raised his eyebrows. "Does she know?"

"I told her some stuff," Putata admitted. "Apparently she figured out I confessed during the ski trip."

"Did she tell you that?" Mekeke asked.

"No. I was, uh, eavesdropping."

A smirk appeared on Mekeke's lips. "Jealous?"

"No! I told you, I'm done with that. I think Yukiki asked her out or something and she rejected him." He remembered the text message. "Must have been last week. They'd be cute together, you gotta admit."

"If she doesn't like him then that's that."

Putata rested his gaze on the wall behind Mekeke. "No," he said slowly. "She likes him. When they were talking, she didn't say anything like, 'I told you I'm not into you' or 'Let's be friends.' She won't go out with him because of me."

"Because you liked him once," Mekeke supplied. "Is that why you cut class? You overheard them talking about you?"

"Guilty."

"That's rough. Maybe you should tell her she has your blessing."

"But she doesn't need it!" Putata raked his fingers through his hair. "I swear, she's too sweet for her own good. I don't get why she wouldn't tell me in the first place. It's not like I'd freak out."

"Yeah, like you're not freaking out right now."

The calm delivery threw Putata off guard.

"About being over it," Mekeke said, "I believe you. Though I think you protest a lot."

_I think you protest a little too much._ Samama's words rang clearly in his head. Putata swallowed heavily. Mekeke wasn't looking at him, his eye trained firmly at the couch cushions.

"I guess a little drama is natural," Putata said, before the pause got too awkward. He needed to change the subject. He gestured vaguely at Mekeke. "So all _that_ happened after detention."

Mekeke sighed. "Yeah. Off school grounds actually."

Putata swore quietly into his cup. "Seriously, what do they get from kicking the shit out of you?"

"They feel big. With me, there's no risk. My dad's not going to sue them and the admin won't listen to me. I've kind of gotten used to it."

"Don't say that. That's sick."

Mekeke touched his cheek thoughtfully. He hunched over his mug like a frightened animal. Putata wanted to hug him again. Lord knows Mekeke needed one.

"Are you gonna be at school tomorrow?" Putata asked.

"Probably. I can't take too many days off."

"Yeah, well..." Putata began, before his ringtone cut him off. Both he and Mekeke jumped. Only now did Putata realize how quiet the apartment was.

It was Hanana. Putata figured he owed it to her to answer.

"Putata?" she whispered when he picked up. "Where are you?"

"Um…" Putata looked at Mekeke, who shook his head. "Not at school?"

"I know you're not here! Samama says you just walked out. You left your bag. What's wrong? Are you at home?"

"Yeah. I decided to cut. Nothing's wrong. I just got bored."

Hanana sighed with relief. The phone crackled. "You're so irresponsible. I told the teacher you were sick and had to leave. If he finds out, it's going to be more demerits for both of us."

"Calm down. He's not going to know. Where are _you_ , by the way?" Places to make a private call were rare on campus. Putata was partly impressed that Hanana had covered for him and was now committing another sin: using her cell phone during school hours.

"I'm in the bathroom and I can't stay here forever. I'll bring you some notes after school, okay?"

"Okay. I'm sorry, Hana."

"Just as long as you're okay. I was afraid something happened."

"No, I'm fine. Thanks."

Mekeke was giving him a weird look. Once Putata had hung up, he said, "You skip class when you're bored?"

Putata cringed. "Sometimes. A little. Like once in a blue moon." In case that wasn't enough, he made a pinching motion.

He thought Mekeke was about to rail on him for being a spoiled rich kid, but Mekeke just said, "I'm surprised that you come to class at all."

Putata laughed. "I can't flunk out, remember? Otherwise I have to go back home."

"Is it really that bad?"

"I guess there are some things I like about it. It's a fancy house and all. But I wouldn't get to hang out with friends. My mom runs the place. When we eat, what we wear while we eat, who we're supposed to talk to. Plus, I have to breathe the same air as my brother and we hate each other."

"I can't imagine you hating anyone."

Mekeke's sincerity made Putata want to curl up into his shirt to escape embarrassment. He wasn't sure why. Maybe he'd never expected Mekeke to have such a high opinion of him.

"Anyone would hate my brother," he replied offhandedly. "You don't want to hear about him, trust me."

Mekeke leaned against the arm of the couch, pulling his other leg up onto the cushions. Putata hadn't seen him lounging before and decided he liked it.

"If you ever want to talk about it," Mekeke said, "I'll listen. Just so you know."

After a moment's thought, Putata answered with, "The same goes for me. Okay? I know the teachers won't give you the time of day, but I'm here when you need me."

And because it wasn't enough just to say it, Putata leaned over and squeezed Mekeke's knee. Mekeke didn't move. He let Putata stay there, almost pressed against his legs. The seconds ticked by slowly.

Finally, "Okay."

Later, as Putata was getting ready to leave, Mekeke asked, "Are you a really touchy person?"

"Huh?"

"You just seem like you aren't sure what to do with your hands."

Putata turned and winked. "You say that now…"

Mekeke laughed a little. "No, I mean it's like you want to touch me but don't."

"You didn't seem to want me to."

"Not at first, no. You can, though. If you want." Mekeke rubbed his arm, his eye trained at the floor. "I wouldn't mind. It's kind of nice actually."

"Really?" Putata was pretty sure he was dreaming. He pinched the inside of his wrist, just in case. "I'll keep that in mind then." He reached for the door, then spun around and pulled Mekeke into another hug. This time Mekeke hugged back, if a little carefully.

"See you tomorrow?" Mekeke said against his shoulder.

"See you tomorrow," Putata confirmed.


	6. Chapter 6

"I'm really sorry, Hanana."

"It's alright. Really." She looked around Putata's apartment with a frown. "This place is a mess. How do you find anything?"

"I have a system," Putata said. The system was to try and remember where he tossed things the night before. Generally, it worked.

"You should at least clean your desk," Hanana said, nodding at the piles of paper stacked on it.

Putata rubbed the back of his neck. "I've been meaning to do it. I'm just busy."

Hanana sighed and pulled that day's work out of her bag. Putata's heart sank at the amount. Reluctantly, he held out his hand to accept it.

"If I just hand it to you, you'll lose it," Hanana said. She sidestepped him and made a beeline for the desk. "I made a copy of my notes too."

"You're the best, Hana," Putata gushed.

"Stop it. It's the least I could do."

It wasn't, but that didn't matter. He didn't deserve this, yet here she was, looking out for him. If only she'd think of herself more. Putata's heart sank even deeper as he remembered Hanana's earlier conversation with Yukiki. How was he going to resolve that? He couldn't tell her he'd been listening in.

Hanana picked something up. "When did you draw this?" she asked.

It was the watercolor of Mekeke. Putata's ears went red. "That's… I couldn't sleep the other night. I was just fooling around."

"It's really good. Everything you paint is good."

"That's not true," Putata said, thinking of the stuff he scrapped. Thank God those had never seen the light of day.

Hanana studied the picture. "You like him a lot," she observed.

Putata's ears went even redder. "Yeah." He laughed. "Samama was right when she said I was obsessed."

"Do you _like_ him like him or the ordinary kind?"

"Just like."

"Oh." She sounded surprised. "You seem pretty into him."

"That's because he's cool." One word wasn't enough to describe Mekeke but it was the best he could do. Putata was more about action than talking. He tried again. "I feel like we click. We get each other. Most of the time."

She placed the picture back on the desk, holding its edges so she wouldn't crimp it. "I always thought he was lonely. Not that I know much about Mekeke. But he seemed shy and wouldn't talk to anyone. I'm glad you're his friend."

_I'm glad too._

Once Hanana had gone, Putata sat down at his desk and looked at the picture again. It wasn't bad for something he'd painted in the middle of the night. Mekeke could never see it, of course. That would be embarrassing on several levels.

He hoped Mekeke would make it through tomorrow unscathed. Putata knew there wasn't much he could do. He wasn't a fighter. Still, he'd try his best to help, even a little.

 

Now that he had permission to touch Mekeke, Putata had no idea where to start. He waited for him at the gazebo, headphones on and skateboard propped against the bench. It took longer than he expected for Mekeke to show up.

"Hey, I got a little hung up at home." He was wearing his sleeves rolled down, probably to hide his injuries. His face looked only a tiny bit better. "Were you waiting for me?"

"Duh, what else?" Putata put an arm around his shoulders. "I wanted to talk before class started."

"What about?" Mekeke was smiling and leaning slightly into Putata's side.

Putata failed to suppress the thrill he got from Mekeke's proximity. "Anything."

"Nuii is learning how to knit, so she's teaching me too." Mekeke's bandaged fingers played on the strap of his bag. "I suck though."

"Don't give up. I want you to knit me a sweater."

"You're getting a scarf, and not from me," Mekeke said. "Nuii wants to see you again."

"Yeah?" Putata hoped this meant he'd be allowed to tag along again.

Campus was buzzing even more than usual. The winter formal was that weekend and everyone was obsessing over who was asking who, what they would wear, and all that jazz. Putata felt like none of the hysteria could touch him. He was aware that he and Mekeke had promised to help with decorations, but it wasn't like either of them planned on going.

Putata was wrapped in his protective bubble of contentment until they reached the classroom. Yukiki and Samama were standing in the hallway, having something that sounded like an argument. Both Mekeke and Putata stopped short. This would not be easy to get around.

Samama said, "If she doesn't want to talk to you, she doesn't want to talk to you. You'll just have to deal with that."

"I'm not trying to bother her. There's been a misunderstanding that I have to clear up before…" Yukiki stopped and turned around.

Putata's arm slipped from Mekeke's shoulders and tucked itself behind his back. He pretended to not have heard. He dashed into the classroom, Mekeke close behind.

"This is bad," Putata whispered. "I've gotta fix this."

"You don't _have_ to. I'm sure it'll fix itself somehow."

Putata shook his head. "No. Hanana is going to keep this up until Yukiki graduates and then she'll have to live with a broken heart forever. I'm not about to let that happen."

"What are you planning?" Mekeke asked. "You can't tell her you listened in on her and Yukiki."

Hanana was sitting innocently in her seat, her chin in her hand. She was staring at the whiteboard. Putata was tempted to just admit that he'd overheard. If anyone would forgive him, it would be Hanana. But then that could open a whole new can of worms. What if she thought he wasn't sincere, that he was lying for her benefit?

"You know," Mekeke put his head to one side, "you could always drop a few hints. Say stuff about how they'd be cute together. I mean, you were guessing before that Yukiki was interested in her. If you bring it up to her, she might realize you're cool with them going out and they can smooth things over."

"Mekeke. You're a genius."

Mekeke's sheepish grin made a surprise experience. "It's not that brilliant."

"Operation Get Hanana and Yuki Together is now a go!"

 

Hanana seemed surprised to find Putata and Mekeke approaching her at lunch. She normally sat with Samama, but today she was on her own at her desk. Putata took this as a sign that he was meant to do this. The universe was paving the way for him.

"You look so lonely over here," Putata said, pulling up his own seat. "Where's the Queen Bee?"

"I thought I'd give Kabobo and Samama some time to themselves." Hanana opened her paper bag and took out a plastic-wrapped sandwich. It looked store bought. Something was definitely wrong if Hanana hadn't made her own lunch.

"Oh, I get it," Putata said. "She's probably blowing off steam after that argument she and Yukiki had. I wouldn't want to hang around her either."

As expected, Hanana's head tilted up at the mention of Yukiki, though she tried to disguise it. "Really? I guess she was a little irritated today."

"I think he wanted to talk to you," Mekeke said. "You didn't get in trouble again did you?"

Hanana shook her head. "No. It's… complicated."

Putata nudged Mekeke's leg with his knee excitedly. "Complicated how?"

"I don't really want to talk about it."

Mekeke and Putata shared a glance. Getting Hanana to admit to anything was tougher than they thought. They'd have to switch tactics.

"It's funny," Putata said. "He's always been pretty distant with everyone except you. I've never seen him visit anyone else's class during break or before bell."

Hanana blushed. "I'm sure it's nothing. It's because I'm friends with Samama."

Putata said nothing. He hoped his skepticism came across in the look he gave Mekeke, who smiled wryly. They'd made a hit. They had to be careful not to overdo it, of course. Couldn't have Hanana figuring them out before the operation was over.

"Anyway," Hanana said, unwrapping her sandwich as she changed the subject. "Are you two going to the formal? Samama got you guys tickets, right?"

"I, uh, don't have anything to wear," Mekeke admitted, his face going a little pink. "I own one suit and it doesn't really fit anymore. It was supposed to last me to graduation but I hit a growth spurt."

Hanana made a face of angelic concern. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't realize."

"Don't worry about it. I wasn't all that interested in going anyway."

"Have you ever been to a dance before, Mekeke?" Putata asked.

"In middle school. It's not my scene."

"Putata, what about you?" Hanana said. "Are you going?"

"No point if Mekeke's not going." The reply was automatic. Putata hadn't been thinking about it, but in the back of his mind, he knew that if Mekeke wasn't going to be there, then he would pass on the formal as well. When did he decide that? He couldn't remember.

"Oh." Hanana's face fell. "I guess I'll skip too."

"What? Why?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "Samama and Kabobo are going as a couple and I don't have a date, so I'd just be a third wheel."

"You have lots of friends though," Putata pointed out. "And I bet there are hundreds of guys at this school who'd pay a million dollars to dance with you."

"If you need a date, Putata could take you," Mekeke offered.

Putata stared at him. Mekeke looked totally serious. _What is he thinking?_

"I don't want to leave you out," Putata said.

"You don't have to stay behind because of me. I think you and Hanana should go."

Hanana shook her head. "I don't want to force Putata. I'm fine with staying at home."

"Are you sure?" Putata asked. "Because I'll take you. If Mekeke's okay with that."

Hanana's eyes flicked between the two for a second. Then she said, "It _would_ be nice to go. You're really fine with staying at home? I could get you something to wear."

"It's fine, guys. I can't dance anyway." Mekeke smiled. "Make sure you get a picture."

 

"Why did you say I should take Hanana to the formal?" Putata asked as they headed home.

"Because she wouldn't go without backup and Yukiki is definitely going to be there. He's part of the committee," Mekeke explained. "You can get her to dance with him."

Putata stopped walking. "You are a _genius._ "

"Stop it. It might not even work."

Putata slung his arm over Mekeke's shoulders like he had that morning and gave him a friendly shake. "Quit selling yourself short and admit that you got something special."

Mekeke ducked his head and murmured, "I'm not very special."

"Are you kidding me? You babysit, you do puppetry, you're smart… hell, you could probably bench press me." Putata gave one of Mekeke's biceps a squeeze. "You're awesome."

Mekeke lifted his head. There was a somewhat dazed look in his eyes. "You're just saying that."

"No way. I'm serious. It sucks that you're not coming with us to the formal. It won't be fun without you."

"Now you're just saying stuff. You haven't seen me dance. Anyway, big parties like that make me nervous. Even if I didn't have work, I'd rather be somewhere quiet."

"Wait, you have work?" Putata asked. "Why didn't you just say that before?"

The dazed look had faded, replaced with one of shame. "I didn't want anyone to know. When you guys have work, it's some fancy internship at your parent's company or something. I just do stock at the grocery store."

"That's not…"

"You and Hanana are really nice, but you'd both look at me like… like you're looking at me now."

Putata tried to wipe whatever expression his wearing from his face. "So you have to hold down more than one job. Big deal. We're not judging you for it."

"But you're pitying me." Mekeke didn't seem angry, just sad. "It's not your fault."

"Well… it's gotta be tough, handling all that on your own."

"It is. I don't have a whole lot of free time. It doesn't matter anyway because I don't have enough money to see movies or hang out with people. So I guess you're allowed to feel sorry for me."

"I don't feel sorry for you," Putata said.

Mekeke looked at him for a long time. "It's nice of you to say so."

 

The news that Putata was taking Hanana to the winter formal reached Samama with lightning speed. Granted, she was Hanana's best friend and had probably been told first. She wasn't happy about it.

"I always hoped to avoid double dating with you," she said, "but I guess it's about time."

"You act like you're inviting the swamp thing. Relax. I know how to behave like a gentleman."

"Why did you ask her anyway?" Samama demanded. "It's not like you're into her or anything."

"It wasn't my idea," Putata said. "She wasn't going to go without a date — which is stupid, by the way — so I decided we could go as friends. We have the tickets. Might as well use them."

Samama raised an eyebrow. "And what about Mekeke?"

"He's not going. He wants to stay at home."

Samama's eyes narrowed and she folded her arms. "You're up to something, aren't you? You've got a suspicious look on your face. If you've got some stupid prank lined up…"

"And ruin the winter formal? I worked hard on those decorations too!" Putata put his feet up on his desk. "Besides, I want Hanana to have a good time. She deserves to have some fun."

Summoned by the sound of her name, Hanana appeared at Samama's side. She glanced nervously at Samama before saying, "I need to go shopping for a dress this afternoon. Do you want to come with, Putata?"

"Sure," Putata said at the same time Samama said, "I'm coming too."

Hanana blinked. "A-alright." She nodded her head toward the back of the classroom. "If Mekeke's free, he can come too."

"I'll let him know," Putata said, eager to escape Samama's laser death glare. He scurried to the back of the classroom.

Mekeke was absorbed in some last minute reading. He only realized Putata was standing over him when Putata leaned against the desk and said his name. Mekeke started.

"Hanana wants to go dress shopping after school today. Do you want to tag along?"

Mekeke chewed on the end of his pencil. "I have to study for the math test on Friday. Then I'm babysitting Nuii tonight while her parents are at a fundraising dinner."

"Mekeke, don't get me wrong, I love Hanana to death, but I'm about to be caught in a pincer attack between her and Samama. I can't go alone."

The pencil crunched softly between Mekeke's teeth. He considered. "I could study after I finish with Nuii. She goes to bed early anyway."

"Thank you so much! I owe you one."

"You've done enough for me already," Mekeke said, smiling around the pencil. "I think the phone covers most of your debt."

"Don't say that until you've gone dress shopping with two girls."

 

It wasn't that bad after all. Samama was surprisingly nice. The act of admiring pretty dresses seemed to mollify her a bit and she was caught up in helping Hanana pick something nice. Putata realized that he didn't mind too much either. He was actually getting inspired looking at all the glittery and shimmery formal wear available to rich teenage girls.

"I wanted to ask," Hanana said, her arms loaded down with dresses Samama had pulled from the racks, "did you want to coordinate? I know some people do, but since it's just us…"

Putata thought for a minute. They would look nice, but since it was such short notice (and since he hoped Hanana and Yukiki would be the real couple that evening) he decided against it. No need to go the extra mile.

"I'll just pull something from my closet," Putata said. "Wear whatever."

Hanana smiled with relief. Samama pulled her into the dressing rooms, shooting a stern look at Putata and Mekeke as they went.

"People seriously pay over a hundred dollars for these?" Mekeke asked, plucking at a tulle skirt. "Isn't that illegal?"

"Yeah. You should see how much it costs to dress my mom."

Mekeke let the skirt drop. "Some of these are really ugly."

Putata laughed. "You can say that again." He took a longer one off the rack. It was a mess of tropical colors. "This one is… $162."

"You're making that up."

Putata flipped the price tag toward Mekeke. Mekeke's eye widened. Putata replaced the dress and found another one that was a mess of satin and sequins. That one was even more expensive. Mekeke looked like he might keel over.

"So Hanana's going to have to pay that much just to go to the dance?" Mekeke asked.

Putata counted off on his fingers. "Well, girls need shoes, wraps, purses, hair stuff…"

"Doesn't it bother you?" Mekeke said.

"A little. I'm kind of used to it. But I don't buy a lot of fancy stuff."

Hanana and Samama emerged from the dressing room. Hanana did a shy twirl, her skirt billowing out around her legs. It was light blue, with a glittery shoulder strap.

"Um…" she said. "What do you guys think?"

"You're pretty no matter what you wear!" Putata said, giving her a thumbs up. "You could go to the formal in a garbage bag."

Hanana's cheeks turned a shade to rival her hair. Samama rolled her eyes.

"I think it's a bit long," Hanana said. "I don't want to trip and embarrass myself."

"You could hem the bottom," Mekeke suggested.

"There's no time to send it to a tailor," Samama said.

"She could do it herself. It's not hard."

Samama leveled her gaze at Mekeke. "You do a lot of alterations?"

"I buy a lot of stuff second hand and it doesn't always fit right." Mekeke scuffed the floor with his foot. "Forget it. It was just an idea."

Hanana examined her skirt, then turned back to the dressing rooms. "I like shorter dresses better anyway."

Putata waited until Samama's back was turned before sticking his tongue out at her. He put a hand on Mekeke's back. "Don't mind her. She probably wasn't trying to be mean. That's just how her voice sounds."

"I almost forgot who I was hanging out with." Mekeke leaned slightly toward Putata. "I should've realized you guys don't need to tailor your own stuff."

"Nah, it's fine." Putata patted the space between Mekeke's shoulder blades. "If it makes you feel any better, Samama probably respects the fact that you can do stuff like that. Kabobo's actually into that sort of thing."

Mekeke relaxed. He drifted away from Putata and ran a hand along the row of skirts. They rippled after him. "This is going to sound stupid, but now I'm wishing I could go with you guys."

Putata shoved his hands into his pockets. "It's not stupid. There's still time…"

"I can't take off work. Rent's cheap but not _that_ cheap."

Putata joined Mekeke next to the dresses. Mekeke was feeling a band of beads. He seemed to be appreciating the texture. Just beyond the cuff of his shirt, Putata could see a faded bruise. He reached for Mekeke's wrist without thinking.

Mekeke didn't pull away. He let Putata push his sleeve back a few inches. Putata imagined how Mekeke must have received the mark and felt a stab of anger, pure and bright. His fingers followed the curve of Mekeke's wrist bone. The sounds of the store became a quiet buzz, the surrounding clothes racks disappearing.

Hanana and Samama returned. "Hey, you guys!"

Putata was back in the store. His head was swimming. Mekeke drifted again, gently removing himself from Putata's grip. Putata gave himself a small slap to the cheek. He had to stop spacing out in public.

Hanana was in pink this time. It managed not to clash with her hair. Again, she spun around once. The skirt was long in the back but the front was short enough to reveal the marks on Hanana's knees, received from hours spent gardening. Samama nodding approvingly.

"How about you Putata? You're her date," Samama said.

"Perfection. Are we done yet?" He hated to make Hanana rush, but he was also getting tired of standing around doing nothing.

Hanana turned again. "I'll get this," she told Samama.

Though Samama looked disappointed, Hanana winked at Putata. Putata grinned back.

 

"I'm sorry for dragging you along," Hanana said as they walked home. "I just didn't want to be alone with Samama."

"Why not? She's your best friend."

"She would start asking me questions."

Putata could guess who Samama would ask about. He and Hanana stopped at a crosswalk. Hanana swung her shopping bag back and forth. She had her "thinking" face on. _Is she finally going to admit it?_

However, she said nothing. They crossed the street in silence. Putata wished Mekeke were still here. Then there'd be someone else to talk to. Mekeke had gone off to take care of Nuii. Putata had wanted to go with, but apparently Mekeke wasn't allowed to invite friends into the house.

"You don't mind taking me to the formal, right?" Hanana asked. "Because if it's a problem, we don't have to."

"Quit worrying, Hana. It'll be fun."

"I hope so."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck i wrote this a long time ago and it's really angsty, but i thought i might as well post it (everything from here is fragmented in my word doc; not even gonna lie, i'm still working on it). why are high school dances a vortex of drama.

                Saturday arrived much quicker than Putata expected. Friday had blasted by in a whirlwind of quizzes and last minute askings. Mekeke, though a bit frazzled by the math test, was rather calm despite all of this. He’d given Putata an update on Nuii at lunch and had kept the winter formal off the table.

                Now it was here. Putata’s mother had sent him clothes from home. They were lying over the back of his desk chair. Putata had hoped they’d act as a deterrent from late night work. At least his mom had been happy to hear he was going to a school function. She saw it as a good chance to mingle with future business partners.

                Putata was thinking of the suit as he helped attach snowflakes to the ceiling of the school’s ballroom. He and Mekeke had spent a previous session putting the flakes on lengths of string. Putata’s heart sank as he realized that his hard work would go unnoticed. He contemplated saving a couple for a personal project.

                “You don’t look so good,” Mekeke said when Putata came down the ladder. “Are you getting sick?”

                “No. I’m just not looking forwarding to wearing a tie.”

                Mekeke appeared skeptical but said nothing as he climbed up with his armful of snowflake strings. Putata braced the ladder for him. He looked around. Everything would probably look better once the lights were out.

                He spotted Hanana standing by one of the walls, a spool of lights wrapped around her arms. She was looking up where the last person had hung the lights — a foot or so out of her reach. All ladders and stepstools were currently in use. Putata was tempted to give her a boost up when Yukiki noticed the problem.

                “Do you need help?” Yukiki asked.

                “No. I’ll, uh, wait until someone finishes with a ladder.”

                Putata glanced up at Mekeke, who had stopped hanging snowflakes to watch.

                “That could be a while. If you’d like, I can lift you.”

                Hanana hesitated. “Are you sure? You don’t have to.”

                “I would like to get this done as quickly as possible. It’s no trouble.”

                Putata drummed against the leg of the ladder. He hoped no one else was looking. He didn’t want to be caught staring. It would be hard to explain why he watching so intently.

                Yukiki bent down, wrapped his arms around Hanana’s legs, and straightened. Hanana gasped at the sudden change in height. Yukiki had picked her up so easily, like it was something he did all the time. He carried her down the length of the wall so she could hang the lights.

                Eventually, Mekeke climbed down, his work finished. “I wonder if this’ll make your job tonight easier or harder.”

                “It all depends on how Hanana feels about that,” Putata said, nodding to where Yukiki was setting her down. He felt… weird.

                Mekeke sighed. “Now I really wish I was going. You’ll tell me what happens, right?”

                “Of course.” Putata’s eyes followed Hanana as she walked away from Yukiki. Her expression was hard to read. Was she happy? Was she upset? Putata would have to find out later.

 

                “Putata? Seriously?” Samama said.

                “What?” Putata tried to look innocent.

                “You’re wearing _Converse._ ” Samama rubbed her temples. “Are you trying to get kicked out?”

                Putata lifted his foot and shook it. “Like anyone cares. There’s no rule about shoes.”

                Samama huffed. “Whatever. At least they’re clean.”

                Hanana laughed behind her hand. She was wearing a flower crown. In her dress and shimmery make-up, she looked like a fairy. Any sign of gloom she’d had before had evaporated once they’d arrived at the school. Putata smiled at her.

                “Wanna dance?” he asked, holding out a hand.

                She took it. Putata led her into the crowd of dancing students. Everything _did_ look better with the lights turned down. To his delight, he heard someone pointing out the snowflakes. _Yes!_

                They danced through a few songs. Hanana was up for being silly and, sometimes, when she caught the music, she danced beautifully, her skirt flowing behind her as she twirled. They were both short of breath soon enough.

                “As your date, it’s my responsibility to get drinks,” Putata said once they’d extricated themselves from the dance floor. “Wait here, ‘kay?”

                Hanana nodded and readjusted her flower crown. Putata undid his already loose tie on the way to the punch table and stuffed it into his pocket, letting out a sigh. Stupid ties, ruining his life. He opened the top two buttons of his shirt as well. He doubted they were enforcing the dress code that strictly.

                _What’s Mekeke doing right now?_ Putata wondered. He had no idea what working at a grocery store entailed. He should have tried harder to get Mekeke to come with them. It was probably selfish to think that way, since he really needed the money, but as much fun as Putata was having with Hanana, he still wished Mekeke was dancing with them too.

                Putata came to a halt a few feet from the punch bowl. Yukiki was leaning on it, talking to Kabobo. The music was too loud to hear their conversation but Yukiki’s eyes were dark, his usual frown a little deeper set than usual. Putata thought about going back and telling Hanana that there weren’t any drinks left.

                But he had a mission tonight and that involved talking to Yukiki. Putata walked up to the table, pretending he didn’t see Kabobo or Yukiki, and reached for the ladle. He found it pushed away from his hand. He looked up to see Yukiki glaring at him.

                “What are you doing here?” Yukiki demanded.

                “Free tickets. I did the snowflakes, remember?” Putata pointed to the ceiling, in case Yukiki really had forgotten.

                “I was _just_ saying he brought Hanana,” Kabobo said.

                At the mention of her name, Yukiki stiffened. The intensity of his glare seemed to die a little. Putata snatched the ladle back while he was dazed.

                “Before you get the wrong idea,” Putata said, filling two plastic cups, “I’m not really her _date_. More like an escort. Wait, that sounds worse.”

                “I thought she wasn’t coming.” Yukiki scanned the crowd.

                “I convinced her.”

                “ _You_ did.”

                “She likes me. We’re friends.”

                Yukiki’s expression softened even further. “I know.”

                Putata pretended not to understand the weight of that sentence. He had never seen Yukiki look like this. It was almost disturbing. _Man, he’s got it bad._ Putata pushed the cups across the table toward Yukiki.

                “You look like you wanna talk to her. Why don’t you bring her some punch?”

                Yukiki’s scowl returned. “What are you trying to do?”

                “Nothing,” Putata lied. “But we both know that Hanana didn’t want to come here with _me_.”

                A few seconds of understanding passed. Yukiki stared at the cups. “I’m not even going to pretend to understand what you’re talking about.”

                Kabobo elbowed Putata and grinned. Putata grinned back.

                “Come on,” Kabobo said. “I have to go back to Samama anyway. What’s the harm?”

                Yukiki opened his mouth to object, but shut it quickly and picked up the drinks. He didn’t look at Putata as he passed. Putata watched them head toward Hanana and Samama. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. His hands were shaking.

                Well, he’d survived a brief conversation with Yukiki without trading insults. That was a huge achievement. Putata trailed back to where he’d left Hanana. He stayed far enough away to observe the results of his work without interference.

                Hanana accepted her drink from Yukiki. Even at this distance, Putata could tell she was turning red. At first, they didn’t talk. Then Samama and Kabobo went back to dancing and they were left alone. Putata fought the urge to step in. He had to let this unfold naturally or he’d get caught meddling.

                The weird feeling was back. Putata chalked it up to watching his friend’s romantic entanglements from a distance. There was something a little creepy about this whole matchmaking thing, but if it got Hanana out of her funk, then it was worth it.

                Hanana and Yukiki made a nice pair of silhouettes. As Putata was thinking about this, a memory from the ski trip shoved its way to the front of his mind — Yukiki in front of the fire, the reddish glow playing off his curls. Putata cringed. Why couldn’t he just forget about that already?

                He took out his phone. It was getting late. Was Mekeke still at work? Putata texted him anyway.

                **wish u were here. Operation successful.**

The music slowed. Several unattached students left the dance floor. Yukiki bent his head toward Hanana’s. He said something. She answered. Together, they joined the crowd of couples. Putata lost sight of them in the kaleidoscope of fancy dresses.

                He should have been triumphant. Everything appeared to have worked out. Hanana and Yukiki were sharing a slow dance, they had talked. If they still weren’t together after this, Putata wasn’t sure what more he could do. Yet he felt something crack open in him, something he thought he’d glued shut a long time ago.

                Casually, Putata put his hands in his pockets and turned toward the exit. He walked out of the school ballroom with long, easy strides. No one noticed him going. He let the doors swing shut behind him as he stepped outside. The cold air felt nice after the stuffy heat indoors.

                When his eyes started watering, he blamed the temperature change. That was a thing, wasn’t it? Putata rubbed his eyes, only to discover that there were more tears than he originally thought. He kept walking across campus, a little faster than before, a little stiffer. His heart stopped when he saw a figure standing by the front gates.

                “Putata?” It was Mekeke. But it couldn’t be Mekeke.

                Putata wiped his eyes with his sleeves, leaving a dark streak in the fabric.

                Mekeke came closer. “Shit. What happened?”

                “I’m fine. I thought… I thought you had work.”

                “I just finished.” His hands settled on Putata’s shoulders. “I came by to see if I could catch you and Hanana on your way out. Seriously, what happened?”

                “Nothing. Well, something. The operation was a success.” He smiled.

                It was Mekeke’s expression that broke the dam. It was that sudden look of sympathy and his hands running down Putata’s arms that caused a new river of tears to break free. Putata didn’t have time to try to brush them away before Mekeke was enveloping him in a crushing hug. His face was pressed against Mekeke’s shoulder, his arms trapped at his sides.

                “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Putata said, laughing through hiccups. “I thought I was done.”

                Mekeke shushed him. He pressed his palm against Putata’s back and followed the curve of his spine. It felt amazingly good. This was probably the best hug Putata had ever received. Mekeke’s jacket was cool from the night air but the space within his arms was warm.

                “Are you okay?” Mekeke whispered.

                “Not really,” Putata admitted.

                “Do you want to go?”

                Putata nodded against Mekeke’s shoulder.

                “Let’s go.”

 

                They were standing in front of the door when Putata realized this was the first time Mekeke would see his apartment. It didn’t bother him, per se, but this much openness all at once was a little intimidating. However, there was nowhere else private enough for the talk that was about to take place. Putata knew there was a talk coming. Mekeke hadn’t said a word on the trip over; a discussion rumbled underneath his silence like a rainstorm, ready to break the moment they got inside.

                Putata told himself to suck it up and unlocked the door.

                He was hoping Mekeke would say something now, but the other boy refused to comment. His eye took in the dirty laundry scattered on the floor, the overflowing wastebasket, and the unmade pull-out sofa. If Mekeke had any judgments, he was saving them for later.

                “Want anything?” Putata asked, shedding his jacket. He didn’t bother hanging it up. What was the point?

                Mekeke shook his head. He pointed at the pull-out. “Can I sit?”

                “Just give me a second to fold it up…”

                “I don’t mind. Um, if you don’t mind, I guess.”

                Putata shrugged. Mekeke sat, his legs stretched out, toes pointing at the ceiling. He was wearing the black jeans, Putata noticed, the ones he’d been sent to detention for. The soles of his sneakers had been worn smooth from years of use. They looked like they might fall apart any second.

                As tempted as Putata was to sit next to Mekeke — he might get another legendary hug — he took the desk chair. His hands found his bottle of sleeping pills. He played with it instead of talking. For a few minutes, the only noises were the electric hum of the lights and the rattle of pills against plastic.

                He should have felt bad for leaving Hanana at the dance. There had been a little twinge of guilt as he and Mekeke had left the school but now all Putata had left to feel was relief. He’d avoided humiliating himself in public. He had achieved his goal.

                Mekeke still wasn’t talking. He watched Putata patiently. Nothing in his gaze searched or prodded at Putata to start explaining. He might have sat there all night if Putata hadn’t pulled out his phone and flipped through the gallery.

                “I got you a picture,” he said, passing the phone to Mekeke. “Her mom took it.”

                The picture was of Putata and Hanana standing at the bottom of the steps, each with an arm around the other, beaming. It was a good photo, even if it was just like any other high school pre-dance picture. Mekeke studied it briefly, then handed the phone back. He looked up at Putata.

                “You guys looked good,” was all he had to say.

                Putata scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Do you want a confession or something? So I wasn’t as over Yukiki as I wanted to be. I didn’t know.”

                “That’s not it.”

                Putata continued playing with the pill bottle. He was expecting Mekeke to ask about them, but he didn’t. That was his strategy, Putata realized. He didn’t force anyone to talk; he just left wide, empty spaces for them to fill in their own time. Putata put down the bottle.

                “I’m gonna get grilled about it tomorrow,” he said. “Samama’s probably pissed at me.”

                “You can blame me. I was the one who said we should go.”

                “We wouldn’t have had to if I wasn’t a big dumb idiot.”

                “You’re not a big dumb idiot,” Mekeke laughed. “You’re a person, with feelings that got hurt. I’m sure there’s at least one other person in the same boat right now. There always are.”

                _But my feelings aren’t supposed to be hurt by something that happened a year ago. I’m the cool guy. That stuff shouldn’t affect me._ Putata didn’t say any of this out loud. It sounded dumb, even in his head.

                Mekeke got up and yawned. “It’s late. I should probably head back.”

                “Text me so I know you didn’t get stabbed.”

                “I won’t,” Mekeke said, “because you’ll be asleep.”

                “Mekeke, you know I can’t —”

                “And I’m going to stay here to make sure you do it.” He folded his arms. “I can tell just by looking at you that you’re exhausted. You were up early this morning and you’re mentally drained. At least try.”

                “It’s not that simple,” Putata argued. “It’s not like I can lie down and automatically go to sleep.”

                “No shit. No one can do that. Trust me, it’ll take some sleeping pills and willpower, but it’s not impossible.”

                Putata thought about fighting it some more, but Mekeke was determined. His look said he would tie Putata to the bed if he had to. There was no use getting into some stupid argument right now. Also, Putata felt a yawn building. He wouldn’t be able to convince Mekeke he _wasn’t_ tired.

                “Fine,” he said, unbuttoning his dress shirt. “I’m dead on my feet.”

                It was strange to be undressing in front of Mekeke, Putata reflected, but since Mekeke had seen his apartment in all its disarray as well as his earlier breakdown, it wasn’t like he was exposing himself any more by being in his underwear and t-shirt. He opened the bottle and shook out a pill. It had been a while since he’d used one. He always felt like a basket case when he did.

                Mekeke brought him a glass of water. “Try to relax.”

                “I’ll try,” Putata said, swallowing the sleeping pill. “If you’re going to wait for me to fall asleep, you might as well stay here all night.”

                “I can do that.”

                “Are you sure? You don’t have stuff to do tomorrow?”

                “Nope. We can have a sleepover.”

                “People stay up late at sleepovers, Mekeke.”

                Mekeke smiled. “Lie down, idiot. I’ll take the floor.”

                “No you won’t,” Putata said as he untangled his covers. He pointed at the fold out. “I don’t mind sharing. This thing’s big enough.”

                Mekeke looked hesitant. He shifted from foot to foot. “That’s okay with you? I’m fine on the floor. It’s not that bad.”

                “I’ll be up all night worrying about you.”

                “Okay then.” Mekeke moved toward the light switch. “You’re really sure? And you’re fine with me staying?”

                “Yep.” Putata settled onto the mattress. The sleeping pill was starting to work. His mind felt foggy. The lights went out. He listened to Mekeke walk over. The pull out bed creaked under his weight. Putata realized he’d missed an opportunity to see Mekeke without his eyepatch and immediately felt bad for thinking that.

                “Good night,” Mekeke said as he worked himself under the covers. Then he added, “If you get up, I’ll know about it.”

                “Yeah, yeah.” Putata yawned. He closed his eyes. Having Mekeke lying next to him, about to sleep next to him, was weird. A good kind of weird. Just to make sure it wasn’t a dream, he reached out for Mekeke and found his arm.

                “What is it?”

                “I wanted to make sure this was real.”

                “It’s real, stupid,” Mekeke said warmly. “Go to sleep.”

               

                When Putata woke up, it felt like no time had passed. There was light coming through the windows — he forgot to close the blinds again — and the neighbor’s morning radio show was filtering through the wall. His mouth felt dry.

                More importantly, Putata was wrapped around Mekeke’s arm like a vine. He had no idea how that happened. At some point during the night, he must have attached himself to the closest living thing, like he used to do with Nyororo. Except this wasn’t his dog; it was Mekeke, who might not be cool with this amount of snuggling.

                Putata released Mekeke as delicately as possible, then rolled over, putting an appropriate amount of distance between them. His face felt a little warmer than usual. To distract himself, Putata groped blindly for his phone before remembering it was on his desk. He didn’t want to get up.

                Mekeke stirred. The mattress shifted as he turned onto his side. When he didn’t get up either, Putata tentatively sat up and looked over. Mekeke sleeping in a classroom and Mekeke sleeping in a bed were two radically different things. So far, all Putata could see of him was his back and that was enough to get his heart thumping at an uncomfortable pace. Putata pushed himself farther upright to peer over.

                Mekeke’s eye opened. “What are you staring at?”

                “Nothing! I didn’t know if you were awake.” Putata kicked off the sheets and jumped out of bed, eager to widen that physical gap a little more. He pointedly kept his gaze off Mekeke while he retrieved his phone. There were a few messages from Hanana, as well as nearly a dozen texts. Putata turned the screen off. He didn’t have the heart to read them right now.

                “How did you sleep?”

                “Really good, actually.” He meant it. He’d been out like a light. Either those pills were really strong or Mekeke was magic. “You should stay over more often. That was one of the best nights I’ve ever had.”

                “Great.”

                Putata took a breath before glancing over his shoulder. Mekeke was fitting the elastic of his patch over his ear. Someday, he might uncover that mystery, but today wasn’t it. He was sort of glad. He focused on other things, like breakfast and getting dressed.

                Mekeke and Putata circled each other around the apartment as they went through all the normal morning rituals — which were no longer normal, since Putata had never had anyone stay over before. He filled two bowls with cereal and let Mekeke choose how much milk to put in. Then they sat on the folding bed and watched TV while they ate. Putata relaxed eventually. This wasn’t as weird as he thought it would be.

                Before he got in the shower, Putata decided to read Hanana’s texts in the privacy of his bathroom. The first few were demanding where he’d gone. The rest were asking if he was okay, if he’d made it home safe, pleas to text her back, etc. Then he took a deep breath and listened to her most recent voicemail.

                “Hey, it’s Hana,” she said, a hint of exasperation in her voice. “I don’t know what happened last night or why you left early, but we’re going to talk about it. You’re not getting out of this. It’s rude to just leave your date by herself.” She chuckled nervously. “Anyway, call me back as soon as possible. You’re starting to scare me.”

                Putata studied the phone in his hand. _You’re starting to scare me._ He had been friends with Hanana for a long time and he recognized that tone of voice. She tried so hard to sound light and cheerful, even when she was tearing herself apart with worry. Putata put the phone on the edge of the sink. He would have to call her back, otherwise she’d come by the apartment and beat his door down. God, he was incredibly selfish.

                When he came out of the bathroom, Mekeke was standing by Putata’s desk, leafing through the pile of midnight sketches. His hands stopped suddenly and he whipped around, a hint of color in his cheeks.

                “Sorry,” he said. “I just wanted to see.”

                “No problem. They’re not my best work though.”

                “I think they’re all really good. Better than anything I could draw.” He lifted another a sheet of paper. He paused, his eye widening. Too late, Putata remembered where he’d stashed that picture of Mekeke in the cat’s cradle.

                “Um, that’s…” he tried to say.

                “This is me?” Mekeke asked, holding up the picture for a better look.

                Putata was too mortified to speak. How was he supposed to explain this? “I was up late and I wanted to paint something so I just drew the first thing that came to mind. I don’t even know where the idea came from.”

                “Oh.” Mekeke’s head snapped up suddenly. “Can… can I keep this?”

                That was the last thing Putata was expecting. He was so startled that he said, “Yes” without thinking. After another second of thought, he realized it would be better off in Mekeke’s possession.

                Distantly, Mekeke muttered, “I should make you something.”

                “You don’t have to do that.”

                “I want to.”

                Putata swallowed any further protests.

 

                After Mekeke had left, Putata went to Hanana’s house. He felt obligated to talk to her in person. He’d tried to stall Mekeke earlier and put it off, but Mekeke had seen right through him.

                “You’ll only make it worse if you don’t get it over with,” he’d said.

                “Yeah but it’ll be awkward anyway,” Putata had whined.

                But he’d sucked it up and come, and now all he had to do was ring the doorbell. His hand wouldn’t move. _I didn’t tell her I was coming. I could just go home and call her. She’d never know._ Even he knew this was cheating. Hanana was upset. He owed her.

                The doorbell played a short, chiming tune when he pressed the button. Hanana’s cousin answered. Putata thought her name was Beriri, but he couldn’t be sure. He’d only met her once or twice. What was she doing in town anyway?

                “You’re Hana’s friend, right?” she asked.

                “Is she here?”

                “Yeah. Come in. I’ll get her.”

                Putata stepped cautiously into the foyer. There was a huge family photo on the far wall. Hanana sat between her parents, a bright smile on her face. Putata couldn’t help but feel the picture was judging him. Beriri said it was okay for him to wait in the living room; he couldn’t get out of the front hall fast enough.

                Hanana’s family was into rustic looking furniture. Putata doubted any of it was really as old as it pretended to be. He sat down on the edge of the couch and jogged his legs while Beriri disappeared upstairs. A bit of conversation carried down, but Putata couldn’t tell what was being said.

                Eventually, Hanana came downstairs. She looked like she’d just rolled out of bed. Putata recognized her gym t-shirt.

                “I was going to stop by later,” she said, sitting in a large wicker armchair. She pulled her legs up onto it. “You should have told me you were coming.”

                “Sorry. I didn’t think about it.” _I needed a way out if I changed my mind._

“Are you going to tell me what happened last night?”

                Putata ran his hands through his hair. “I know you’re probably mad at me…”

                “I’m not mad at you. I’m _worried._ ” Hanana picked at the cushion she was sitting on. “You just disappeared. If you wanted to leave, we could have gone. It wouldn’t have been a big deal.”

                “No, it would have. I got worked up over something stupid and I didn’t want to ruin your evening, so I left.” Putata paused before adding, “Mekeke was there. He walked home with me.” _And stayed the night._

“Putata.” Hanana sucked in a breath. “Is this about Yukiki?”

                The room was suddenly boiling hot. “I wasn’t going to say it.”

                Hanana put her face in her hands. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

                “Why are _you_ apologizing?” Putata said. He tried to laugh it off. “I’m the one who should be groveling right now.”

                “Because I can’t even follow through with what I said!” She had turned bright pink and seemed on the verge of tears. “I told him that we couldn’t… and then at the dance I acted like none of that happened. I’m so stupid!”

                “Calm down, Hana.” Putata got up and knelt next to the chair. “Listen, I should have told you this a few days ago, but I kind of know about you and Yukiki.”

                Her eyes widened behind her fingers.

                “You weren’t that subtle, to be honest. And I eavesdropped. Just a little.” He hoped she wouldn’t focus on that bit. “Hana, it doesn’t matter that I used to like him. It’s not like we were dating or anything.” _It was the polar opposite of that._

“I didn’t think it was fair to you,” she said, lowering her hands.

                “Well, it’s not fair for me to stop you from going out with a guy you like. Even if I think he’s kind of an asshole. _Do_ you like Yukiki?”

                Hanana hesitated. Then she nodded. “But what about last night?”

                “I was trying to get you two together,” Putata said. “Mekeke helped a little. That’s why I took you to the formal in the first place. I just needed to work through some leftover stuff is all.”

                “You were?”

                “Hanana, I’m ninety percent sure that you’re the person who makes the chunk of ice Yukiki keeps in his chest cavity pump blood like a human heart.”

                Hanana giggled a little, but her face fell a second later. “It made you upset. Seeing us together.”

                “It did, but I’m fine now. I got rejected a year ago.” Putata shrugged. “You don’t have to be miserable with me. And I’m not even miserable anymore.”

                Hanana sat back in the chair. “I guess we need to tell each other things instead of keeping secrets. I ended up making everything worse. When we couldn’t find you, I thought you might have done something stupid.”

                “What do you mean?” Putata asked, turning his gaze to the pictures on the wall.

                “There was that time,” Hanana said slowly, “a few years ago when you tried to run away from home. They found you at a gas station in the middle of nowhere.”

                He wished she hadn’t brought that up. The memory was making him cringe. “That was different,” he said quickly. “That was family stuff.”

                “You do stuff like that, though.” Hanana leaned forward again, putting her chin on her knee. “You never stop to think when you get upset. Just this week you cut class without telling anyone. I’m scared you’re going to disappear one day and we’ll never see you again.”

                “Hana…”

                “Promise me you’ll say something next time.” She held out her hand, pinky outstretched. “And thank Mekeke for showing up and taking you home. It was a good thing he was there.”

                She didn’t know the half of it. Putata hooked his little finger around hers. “Promise. Now you have to promise me you’ll start thinking of yourself a bit more.”

                Hanana smiled. “I’ll do my best.”

                “By the way, when you and Yukiki start dating, don’t tell me anything. Unless it was funny or embarrassing.”

                “Sure thing,” she laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> I've always wanted to write a fic where Mekeke and Putata's friendship wasn't easy or automatic. Here is that fic. Using Bechnokid's designs but if you imagine something else, feel free until I contradict you. Or just keep doing that.


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